


Secret of the Odd-eyed Witch

by extra_Mt



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, Orphans, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-04-07 03:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 89,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19076443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extra_Mt/pseuds/extra_Mt
Summary: Fearless village child Misty sees a ghost at the haunted manor on the hill she went in order to win the approval of the village people. On the same day, she becomes an orphan. Despite her wish to stay in her village, the second part of her life begins in the haunted manor as a servant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you spot any typos or errors, let me know.  
> I'm planning to get this story published one way or another when it's finished. Please give me reviews so I could work on my weak points and make this better.  
> Thank you!

The first time Misty looked closely at the manor on the hill was with her older brother, Kyle. They hid their tiny bodies behind the snow-covered bushes at the foot of the hill, just several meters away from the wood fence that marked the edge of the property.

Everybody in their village knew about the rumors that surrounded the manor. It was haunted. A rich countess lived there. A curse befell her child and killed it. Now only the child’s grave remained there.

These were the rumors, the lores. Nobody had a proof that they were real. The only thing they knew was that every once in a while, someone visited the manor, always by a shiny automobile that exhumed black fume. And some children claimed to have seen a shadowy figure looking out the window. The latter one, only some kids believed in, not including Misty.

She was one of the youngest kids in the village. Her red cheeks hadn’t lost the fat despite her mal-nourished limbs. In Kyle’s old clothes and her curly hair tucked in a hat, she looked like a smaller version of her brother. Of course, it made her the perfect target of teasing from the other kids.

That was precisely why she had convinced her brother to come with her to the hill. They were going to be the local investigators and put an end to this stupid rumor, which was nothing more than a horror story other kids had conjured up to scare her.

“That’s the window, with the curtains closed. See it?” Kyle said, pointing a finger towards the house.

Misty didn’t know which one to look at. There were so many windows that looked the same. But Kyle would make fun of her if she answered honestly.

“Do you see the ghost now?” she said.

He shook his head. “Maybe it’s taking a nap.”

“It’s a ghost. It doesn’t need sleep.”

“But it only appears at night. That’s what Mrs. Crete said.”

Misty wrinkled her nose. “How can she know? Her eyes are all shrunken. She can’t see, a ghost or not.”

He frowned as if the idea had never occurred to him.

Misty crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t believe in them ghosts. It’s just the same when Ma says I’ll marry a man when I grow up and have babies. Adults say those things just to scare us kids. It’s too far to see anything anyway.”

“Why don’t you get closer, then, if you are so-- so-- unbelieving, Miss Brave.”

“Okay.”

She trod to the fence, leaving footprints on the snow. With tight lips and her gaze on her brother, she put her hand on the fence and let it linger there for full two seconds before dashing straight back to the village.

Misty boasted her act of bravery to every single person in the village, but only a handful believed her.

...

They returned to the hill a few days later, hiding behind the same bushes. Even from there, Misty could see the little handprint of her in the otherwise impeccably undisturbed snow on the fence. That made her feel smug. She felt ready to prove to the whole village how much more brave she could be.

“I can climb over the fence. It don’t scare me none,” she said to Kyle.

“Yeah? Is that all? Why don’t you go up and knock on the door, piggy?”

Knock on the door. Of the manor that a ghost supposedly haunted.

Of course, Misty could do it. Of course.

“Promise you’ll let me touch your lucky charm if I did,” she said.

It was just a necklace of an animal fang they’d found in the forest. But it looked the coolest thing Misty had ever seen. The problem was that her brother always yelled at her if she tried to touch it without his permission.

With a grin, he took the charm out from under the shirt. “I promise, but you have to actually knock on it. Touching doesn’t count.”

“Can I wear it now?” She tried to reach it, and Kyle put it back under the shirt.

“No way. You’ll lose it.”

“Only half an hour.”

“Ten minutes. After you done it.”

“Fine.” She stood up and began her march towards the hill.

Kyle shouted at her back. “Maybe the ghost will answer the door and keep you in there forever. Then, I don’t have to share food.”

Ignoring his laughter, Misty climbed under the fence--it was too tall for her to climb--and walked up the hill. It was vast and steeper than it had looked. Her legs got tired soon, and the manor still looked as far as before, standing like a dessert-illusion in the snow.

Her shoes were damp with the snow seeping through them. Her bones in the feet felt frozen. She looked back, but her brother was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she should go back, too. There wasn’t even a single door she could knock on from where she stood anyway.

Something landed near her with a soft thud. Confused, Misty looked around. Another thud came from a little afar, and a moment later, a snowball hit her in the back of her head. The freezing bits slid down her shirt. She turned around to see Kyle holding his sides with laughter.

Misty shook the remaining snow out of her clothes and hair, knelt down, and gathered as much snow as she could with her little hands. Thus, began the snowball fight.

They fought on the vast field over the fence. The door, the ghost, and the lucky charms were forgotten.

In terms of the terrain, Misty had the upper hand. But her brother had a better aim and the bushes to shield himself with, as well as bigger hands to make bigger snowballs. She got hit a lot more than she cared for.

So, she ran up the hill to hide behind a thick tree in order to regroup. Kyle shouted something about fairness. Misty smiled, leaning against the tree, trying to regulate her breath.

In that precise moment, her eyes caught something move in one of the windows. Not a full figure, but a distinct face of a girl peeking out from the slight gap between the curtains.

Misty ran down the hill at full speed without a word. And Kyle, seeing her practically roll down, stopped throwing snowballs at her. He tossed the snow down to the ground and met her halfway.

Misty nearly crashed into him, but on her face was a big smile. “I saw it! I saw the ghost, Kyle! It’s a girl!” She grabbed him by the arm and pointed to the house. “There! On the second floor!”

Kyle squinted his eyes. “I don’t see nobody.”

“But--” She searched for the shadowy face. It was gone. “I saw it. It’s not a lie. It was watching us play.”

“You’re saying that because you didn’t want to go knock on the door.”

“That’s not so!”

“No touching my lucky charm for you.”

“But I ain’t lying, you mean devil!” She began to throw punches.

He wrapped his fingers around her thin wrists. “Oh, no. You ripped a hole in it.” He took a fistful of Misty’s shirt, just under the left armpit.

Poking her finger through the hole, Misty felt her skin there. She had no idea when that had happened.

“Bad piggy,” her brother said. “Ma is going to beat the hell out of you if she finds it out.”

To Misty, it didn’t matter what her mother would do or say. As they began to walk home, she threw one last look at the house, at the window with the curtains half-closed.

She was sure what she had seen.

...

Her mother gave her one good smack in the side of her head upon seeing the hole in her shirt. Misty was used to it.

After getting her shirt taken off in one swift motion, she stood on a wooden box at the kitchen to cook dinner, while Kyle was outside chopping firewood.

Their shack was small. There was only little space between the kitchen and the table, and the other half of the room was occupied by two mattresses on the floor. When Misty got older and bigger, they would need to find another mattress somehow. Her mother always complained about that. She always blamed Misty for growing up.

In fact, in Misty’s eyes, it was all that her mother did. Complain. About her demeanor, about her dirty clothes, about her cooking. Just everything that Misty did, her mother found a fault in it. Even now, sewing her shirt up on the mattress, she continued to grumble. Misty was used to it. It was a sound as natural and constant as the sound of wind wheezing in from the crack of the window.

Misty chopped a cabbage and dumped it into a soup pot. The few pieces of cabbage sank like fallen leaves, and she still could see the bottom of the pot. She wished they had, at least, some salt to season the water. Or better yet, potatoes.

It was about time to go to the town to procure food.

“Dinner’s ready!” Misty shouted for her brother on the outside.

She carefully lifted the pot off the fire, placed it in the center of the table, and fixed three soup bowls. Each of them had equal amount of cabbage leaves. If anyone wanted more water in the pot, though, they could help themselves.

“Ma, I think me and Kyle are going to the town tomorrow. Wanna come with us?”

Her mother didn’t answer.

Misty looked to the bed. Her mother lay there, her body twisted, Misty's shirt thrown out.

“Ma?” Misty shook her by the shoulder.  

Still, no response. So, she pulled her by the arm, trying to make her sit. The limp body slumped back down to the ground.

Misty ran out of the shack. “Kyle! Kyle!”

Her brother gave a grimace at her as he piled up firewood. "What? I told you I was coming."

"Something's wrong with Ma. She--" Misty burst into tears.

...

The news of their mother’s death spread through the whole village within a couple of hours. By the evening of the same day, people had dug a grave and lowered her body into it as it was. Nobody in the village was fortunate enough to afford a casket or an adequate headstone. Even a cloth to shroud a body was considered a luxury.

Misty hated to think her mother would feel cold underground.

She rolled a massive stone from the back of their shack over to her mother’s grave. When she was younger, she used to pretend that the stone was her pet turtle. Now, the stone could keep her mother company in the barren graveyard.

They had become orphans.

But Misty couldn’t be bothered to even wonder about their future. The world with her mother in it was all she knew. Life without her was unimaginable, and therefore it shouldn’t exist-- And yet, it did. The two mattresses felt too vast with just her and Kyle on them, too chilly to ignore. The winter wind wheezed through the cracks in the window, calling out to her. She slept, clinging to her brother like she would to Mama.

Uncle Arthur visited the shack to check upon them in the morning and evening. He also shared food with them. Misty thought they could live like this. There wouldn’t be any drastic change in terms of food. If the food given from Uncle Arthur wasn’t enough, she and Kyle could solve the problem in the town.

They could make it together, just the two of them.

But that didn’t last long. Two days after her mother’s death, Uncle Arthur came knocking on the door during their afternoon nap.

“Kyle, someone’s here to see you.” He wore a strange expression, pulling his hat lower to hide his eyes.

Kyle went outside. Misty followed him to the door and watched him talk to some stranger by a horse-drawn carriage. Other villagers watched them from a distance, too, but none of them came up to greet her.

The stranger handed something to Uncle Arthur when her brother turned around.

“Who is he?” she said to Kyle.

“He’s a blacksmith in the town. I’m going to be his apprentice.”

“When are you coming home?”

He put his hand on her head. “They said someone else is coming to get you, too. Someone that takes good care of you.”

“I can take care of myself good. I’m old enough.”

“I know you are, piggy.” With a tender smile, he took the lucky charm off his neck and put it around hers. “Promise to keep this safe, alright?”

The fang fit nicely in her palm. While she was preoccupied with the charm in her hands, the carriage drove away. She forgot to ask him when he would be back.   



	2. Chapter 2

Next day, Uncle Arthur told Misty someone had come for her.

She ran outside, expecting to see her brother. But instead of the horse-drawn carriage that had taken him, the shiniest automobile she had ever seen was parked in the center of the village. It had a roof, too. Not even the town people got to see a roofed automobile everyday.  

The more eerie was the driver. One word to describe his appearance would be  _ long _ . From his shoes to his hair, he was long with the exception of his stubble. Misty thought she’d seen a bed bug similar to him. If it wasn’t for the pristine butler suit he wore, she would’ve taken him for a beggar.

“Go on, kiddo. He is gon’ take you to your new home.” Uncle Arthur gave her a gentle but constant push in the back.

Misty pushed back against the force. “Where’s Kyle? When’s he coming back?”

“Hey, look at how polished that automobile is!” Uncle Arthur said in a cheerful tone. “Don’t you wanna ride it? None of us in the village has ever rode one before. You’ll be the first.”

“No! I want my brother back!” Misty freed herself from him, ran home, and kept the lockless door shut with her whole weight.

But Uncle Arthur easily pushed it open. He caught her hand and carried her on the shoulder. Misty kicked and screamed, but was soon thrown into the automobile.

“Let me out!”

She couldn’t figure out how to open the door, so she began banging on the window. But nobody came to the rescue. One by one, they slowly went back to business as if she’d disappeared into thin air.

The engine started, and the village grew farther and farther away.

Misty felt dizzy. The engine roared, and the ground was moving under her without actually moving. She thought this must be what it would be like to be swallowed whole by a giant wolf. She curled up and covered her eyes with her hands, praying this nightmare would soon end.

The ground under her stopped shaking after a while. When she opened her eyes, a grand mansion was looking down on her. She leaned forward. The roof was so tall she couldn’t see it from the inside.

The driver got out. Misty moved to get to the only exit she could find, but something locked her in place. The front part of her ill-fitting trousers was caught in the handle. She pulled. The door opened.

Looking up, she stepped out of the vehicle. The door looked big enough for her shack fit through.

But she didn’t get to go through the door. The long man grabbed her by the arm and began striding around the building.

“Stop dragging me. I can walk on my own.” Misty shook his hand off.

There was a shabby door past a pile of sacks. The moment it opened, the rich smell of cooked vegetables blew into her face. Misty examined all kinds of foods in the kitchen. Baskets of potatoes and tomatoes in the corner, apples on the table, and on the counter was the biggest chunk of meat she had ever laid her eyes on.

The next thing she noticed was a thin woman in an apron, chopping the meat.

The woman looked at the man as the door closed. Her eyes travelled to Misty behind him. “Does she not have shoes?” she said to the long man.

He slowly shook his head. Without a word, he left the kitchen through another door.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” the woman said, her eyes trained on her knife.

“Of course, I do. It’s Misty. May I have a piece of the meat, please?” Her stomach was so empty it hurt.

“You may, but only after you washed yourself and changed into clean clothes.”

Misty frowned. “I don’t have anything else to wear. These aren’t mine, either. They’re Kyle’s.”

The woman didn’t say anything for a while. Putting the chopped meat into the pot on the stove, she wiped her hands on the apron and finally turned to her. “Come with me.”

Misty followed her out through the same door that the long man had left. It led to a narrow hallway with windows on one side. She looked out. The house stood on a hill, commanding a good view of the world below. She recognized the wooden fence with her handprint on it and the bushes she and Kyle used to hide behind.

She caught up with the woman. “Is this the ghost manor?”

The woman said nothing as they entered an elegant room.

Misty had no idea what kind of room it was. But then, she saw the bathtub, big and polished in the center of the room. Kyle had told her about the lavish lifestyle of the town people--the people of the highest class. But she never thought she’d see it with her own eyes.

The woman yanked off her clothes from behind. “Get in there.” She gestured to the tub.

Too stunned, Misty obeyed the order. She let out a scream when cold water came out of the faucet and touched her feet.

“Oh, quit it,” the woman said, handing her a tiny cloth. “Rub your skin until all of your body is clean. When was the last time you bathed?”

She thought about it. All she could remember was that she hadn’t played in the river since the end of the autumn last year.

But waiting for her answer, the woman left the bathroom.

Misty rubbed her skin with the cloth as best as she could. It hurt, but no matter how much she scrubbed, her skin still looked shiny with grime. She thought about the meat that was waiting for her and rubbed even harder. The skin of her arm started to get back its natural color of red.

However, the woman came back in and, as soon as she saw Misty’s red arm, took hold of the arm. “What are you doing? You’re going to bleed. Has no one taught you how to wash your body?”

“That’s how Ma taught me to do it.”

The woman shook her head as she stopped the water. With a tiny bowl from the kitchen, she scooped the muddy water and wetted Misty’s hair. “When you put your clothes on, clean this bathroom. This tub, the sink, everything, and do the same with the toilet room.”

Misty glanced at the sink from behind the cascade of brown water. “I don't know how.”

“I will teach you,” the woman said. “But you’d better learn it the first time because I don't have time for the second lesson.”

“Can I eat the meat before, please?”

“Not until dinner. You want to eat, earn it.” She threw another cloth over Misty’s head. “Now, get dressed.”  

“But you said I could have it after I got clean.”

“Stop with the attitude, or you won’t have any when the dinner time comes.”

Even though Misty thought it was unfair, she had no choice but to obey and stepped out of the tub. To her frustration, though, her clothes were gone.

“Where are my clothes?”

“I threw them in the fire. They were too dirty to bother cleaning.”

“You can't do that! Kyle’s going to beat the heck out of me!”

The woman threw an indifferent glance. “What you need is to learn not to scream like a beast. Learn from Mr. Spalding-- Here, put these on.” She grabbed a set of clothes from the basket at their feet and pushed it into Misty’s chest.

While the woman rummaged through the storage in the corner, Misty examined the given clothes. It was a dress with horrifying flower prints on it. It felt too short but too baggy around the shoulders and the waist. The shoes were stiff and also too big. She put them on, because freezing to death would be so much worse. Now that she was in those awful clothes, she began to wonder if it was worth the shame.

“When can I go home?” Misty said.

With some tools and towels in hands, the woman laughed. “This is your home. Mrs. Goode paid good money for you. Until she's done with you, you will serve her here.”

Misty didn’t understand the meaning of it except that they wouldn’t let her go. Nonetheless, it was enough for her to developed a dislike for this woman in the moment. Her family could be harsh sometimes, but they never treated her like a thing.

The woman taught her how to use each tool. Misty’s stomach continued to boil, scrubbing the ornate sink she had never used while cold water stung her hands. And the damned dress. The hem of it constantly got in her way. That infuriated her more.

…

Not once did Misty cry during this time of change. She was a big girl now, and her brother always said that crying meant admitting defeat. They would never see her cry. So, instead, she kept the hot feeling of anger sizzling inside her heart.

But it exhausted her. To stay being mad. Every once in a while she had to remind herself why this anger was necessary, why it was so much better than allowing loneliness creep in-- She had never known until now that one could feel lonely in other people’s company.

At least, she never had to go hungry in this manor as long as she behaved. Food was her only comfort these days. Just focused on satisfying her primal instinct, she could forget about everything bad in her life.

The meal times also happened to be the only time of day where all three of the servants could be found in the same room.

The thin woman in an apron was called Moira, and she had a cloudy eye. She was nice enough. But she often reprimanded Misty to act more ladylike, and Misty hated that part of her. Plus, Misty couldn’t guess how old the maid was. The daylight made her look rather young, while the kitchen lights made her appear one-hundred years old. Her voice, too, sounded differently in different situations. That creeped Misty out.  

Still better than the long man, though. Moira said his name was Mr. Spalding. He was the other servant, responsible for the things around their mistress. And he was mute. Misty assumed it was the same as deafness. So, in the beginning, when she absolutely had to talk to him, she talked with blatant body gestures and little words.

As for the other people that might live there, Misty had no clue. Moira often mentioned Mrs. Goode. Spalding would always disappear during the meal. And during the day, a bell would ring somewhere in the manor every now and then, summoning Moira or Spalding like a magic spell.

Although Misty could tell there were two different bells, it was as far as she could deduce.

…

Her day started at sunrise and ended at sunset, with rushed meal breaks in between. Moira assigned a heavy workload to her every day. And Misty never had an ounce of energy left to enjoy her free time after dinner. She would fall asleep as soon as her body hit the bed and didn’t open her eyes until Moira shook her awake the next morning.

She barely had dreams. When she did, though, she dreamed about her family and their poor but happy life in the village.

A week after her arrival, she was reunited with her brother in her dream. With his usual quip, he gave her an outlandish dare, and she demanded his lucky charm as a reward.

In the blissful slumber, she felt around her neck. It wasn't there.

The haze in her mind dissipated in an  instant as she jumped out of bed. She couldn't think properly. The dream, the present, and the past got all mixed up, trapping her in the whirlwind.

Was it in the dream that Kyle let her touch the lucky charm? No. It had happened for real, she remembered that. He'd given it to her before the carriage drove away from the village.

Where was it now, then?

At last, she came to the horrifying realization that she hadn't seen the charm in the past week.

Running to the other side of the humble bedroom, Misty shook the snoring Moira awake. “Have you seen Kyle’s necklace?” she said.

“What-- What time is it?” Moira waved a hand in front of her face as if to shoo away a fly.

“Kyle’s pendant! The wolf's fang! I had it when I came here!”

They never knew what kind of animal the teeth belonged to, but Misty liked to think it belonged to a wolf.

“Go back to sleep. It was just a dream,” Moira said and started to snore.

Misty shook her awake again. “I need to find it. I promised to him I’ll keep it safe.”

But Moira didn’t answer.

It was no use. Misty ran into the hallway. The very first light of dawn came in through the large windows, and she looked every corner in the minimum light. There wasn’t anything to be found. She had cleaned the hallway from one end to the other that very day.

This was the disadvantage of a big house. Back in her old shack, Misty could never lose something even if she wanted to.

The bathroom was still too dark. But there was nothing when she had scrubbed the floor the day before. And then, she remembered about her clothes burned by Moira on the first day.

She ran out, bypassing the kitchen, to the pile of sacks near the backdoor outside. This was where they stored ash from fires until their chimney sweeper came to collect it. The huge pile of sacks suggested they didn’t come very often. The ashes of her clothes--Kyle’s clothes--must’ve been in one of the sacks. Hopefully the fang had survived the fire.

Misty started with the loosely tied sack, smaller than the rest, at the front. Holding it upside-down, she emptied the content on the ground and sifted through it. Wafting soot coated her eyelashes and hindered her vision. She wiped her eyes with her soot-covered hands.

The fang wasn’t in the first sack. Nor was it in the next one or the one after that. She hung her head, covered in ash from head to toe.

The house was awake now. The sound of a knife hitting the cutting board came from the kitchen.

There came footsteps around the corner. Spalding showed up already dressed in his suit. As soon as he spotted the dark figure of Misty, he let out a quiet gasp. Misty didn’t pay much attention to him. But he grabbed her by the back of her collar and made her stand on her feet.

She shook herself free and glared.

With his eyes open wide, he gesticulated, swinging his arm back and forth between her and the now-diminished pile of sacks.

“I was just looking for Kyle’s pendant!” she said. “It wasn't my fault. Moira burned it!”

He pointed at the empty sacks at her feet with stronger intent.

“You clean it! I don't care about this house!” She began to run past him.

He caught her by the arm, so Misty bit into his hand out of instinct and ran down the hill.

An extra layer of frost had covered the snow surface overnight. Every time her bare foot dug into the snow, it scraped her skin.

She stopped at the wooden fence to catch her breath. She looked behind. Spalding was about the middle of the hill, walking back up to the manor. She spat out a curse at his back before climbing under the wooden fence.

The manor could burn down for all she cared. It was the village that was her home. Kyle must have come back by now. He would probably give her more than one smack in the head for the lost lucky charm. Fine by her. They could look for another fang or two when spring came.

Everything would work out as long as they had each other.

…

It was past breakfast when Misty arrived at the village. Her neighbors were outside, feeding the chickens and loading their wagons with products they hoped to sell in the town.

None of them responded to her greetings. They looked askance at her from a distance as if she was an outsider. Misty didn’t know why. One of Uncle Arthur’s kids saw her, screamed something, and ran into his house. A moment later, Uncle Arthur himself jumped out of the house with a piece of bread in his hand.

Although it was him that had thrown Misty into the automobile, she felt nothing but relief to see the familiar face.

“Morning, Uncle Arthur,” Misty said.

But he just stood frozen, his eyes wide.

Misty’s mouth watered at the sight of the bread in his hand. But she decided not to ask for anything. She had eaten last night. Skipping a meal or two wouldn’t do her any harm.

Leaving the dumbfounded Uncle, she went to her shack.  

But it was clear something was off. The stack of firewood at the back of the shack were all but gone, she noticed. The door was also left ajar. This was very odd. Kyle never forgot to close the door properly and always used to scold her for not doing the same.

She pushed it open. There was hardly any vestiges of the shack in her memory, because everything was gone. The mattresses, the cooking tools and plates, the table and chairs, and even the old wash tub for the dishes. The walls and the floor were the only things left.

Misty thought this might be a dream. She was at the manor only for a week. A ruin couldn’t be created in such a short period of time. Besides, where did Kyle go? He would never have let anything like this happen to their house if he’d been here.

She went back to Uncle Arthur's house. There was nobody outside the house. The door was closed, and so were the curtains in the window next to the door. As she knocked, the curtains opened a crack, and a pair of eyes locked with hers for a moment before the curtains shut.

Still, the door remained closed. Misty heard hushed voices on the other side of it.

“Uncle Arthur, have you seen Kyle?” she said.

“He’s not here,” a kid’s voice said.

“Do you know where he is?”

They didn’t answer.

Misty knocked again. “Please, if you know where he is, tell me, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

After a moment of silence, Uncle Arthur answered. “He’s in the town. He told you so. Now, leave my family alone.”

The cold tone of his voice bewildered her. It didn’t sound like the voice of a man who had cared for her family since before her birth. Feeling lost in the place she called home, she turned on her heel as demanded. She had to find Kyle.

As she began her march for the town, two boys emerged from behind the laundry hung outside. There was a discernible smirks on both of their snotty faces. Misty already felt disgusted and annoyed.

“Why are you so dirty?” the younger one said.

Misty ignored the question.

“Hey, is it true you now live in the White Manor?” the older one said.

“I did, but I ran away.”

“Because you saw the ghost? So, it’s real?” The younger one shone his eyes.

But the past week had been such a hassle that the ghost story completely slipped out of her mind.

“I don’t know,” she said.

The older one laughed. “I knew it. None of these ghost stories are real.”

Misty had no desire to rebut his assumption. She had real problems.

The younger one frowned. “Well, is it true that you are a witch, then?”

“What?”

“Dad said your ma was a witch, and that’s why she died. And you and Kyle are also cursed--”

Misty gave the older one a sharp punch right in the nose, knocking him down. “Your Dad is a huge liar! I’m not a witch! Ma isn’t a witch! Kyle isn’t a witch!”

Sitting astride the boy, she continued to give him a thrashing while he lay yelping, too stunned to fight back. But once he began to fight back, she had trouble keeping him down. He was older and much taller than her.

“Apologize!” She threw another punch. “Take it back!”

Someone grabbed her by the back of her neck and threw her across the ground. They began to hit her with something prickly, then. A broom, she recognized as she curled up in a ball. People were screaming over her head.

“Hey, stop it!” someone said.

The attack of the broom halted. While they started to argue, Misty took this opportunity and fled at full speed despite the acute pain in her ankle. Someone shouted her name behind her. She didn’t look back.

She entered the woods to get to the town. The village was no longer her home. Her cheek was bleeding slightly. She had forgotten to visit her mother’s grave.

Nothing made sense to her. The drastic change in Uncle Arthur’s attitude towards her, the empty shack, her family being called witches-- Nobody had ever said anything like that to them before. Her mother was the biggest skeptic of any supernatural beliefs in the entire village. No way she could’ve been a witch.

But what about Misty herself?

One time, she wished the bully of the village misfortune, and after a month of constant wishing, the guy came down with a two-month-long cold that eventually forced him to retire. And sometimes, she could control the weather by wishing with strong enough intent. Those were lucky events worth bragging about to Kyle. But maybe, she really had evil powers, and the villagers had known it all along.

Walking among the trees, she stared down at twigs or stones, trying to make them move without touching. None of them did.

She gave up and looked up. The surroundings looked unfamiliar. The path to the town shouldn’t look so bumpy as it did before her eyes. But Misty remained calm. She knew she must’ve taken the wrong path at one of the forks. There were four or five forks on the way to the town, all similar to each other. Kyle always yelled at her for forgetting the correct path, but she never made effort to remember it.

She turned back to the latest fork and took the other path in the hope that it was the right one. It wasn’t. But she kept going forward anyway. Soon, she found herself even more lost.

It was snowing. Her swollen ankle pulsated every time she took a step. Her mind was all but in haze. She wished Kyle was here to give her a piggyback ride.

After some more hours, she finally managed to see smoke rising in the distance. She walked towards the beacon. But the landscape grew familiar by the step, and she was back at the village she had run away from.  

Her feet gave in at last. She sank down at the foot of a  large tree, hidden from the eyes of the people. She didn't know what to do anymore. She wasn't old enough to cross the woods by herself, just like Kyle had always said.

It looked like the only option left for her was to return to the manor.

She remembered about her mother. Perhaps, if she truly was a witch, she might be able to talk to Misty from the grave and give her advice.

So, Misty waited under the tree until dusk. Each household began to prepare dinner. One by one, villagers came back from the town. After that, the entire village fell into dismal silence with nobody out on the street.

She lifted her cold body and limped her way to the graveyard. The snow slightly covered the patch of soil that had a different color then the rest. Brushing the snow off the turtle gravestone with her hand, she sat beside it.

“I wonder if it snows in heaven, Ma. I bet it’s warm snow if it does, because cold is bad, and heaven doesn’t have anything bad.”

No response came.

Misty wiped her runny nose. “Do you know how Kyle is doing in the town? He’s too weak to be a blacksmith.”

A dog began to bark somewhere close.

“I need to go. I love you, Mama, always.”

With a kiss on the gravestone, she left her mother and ran through the village. More dogs barked, some chasing her, and doors opened behind her. She went even faster and didn't allow herself to slow down until no person or dog was after her.

Her mother couldn't tell her anything. That, although nothing had changed, made her feel lonelier.

The manor came into view, standing on the hill with the same grandeur as she’d left it this morning, unconcerned about her struggles. She walked up as slowly as she could to delay the inevitable punishment. It could be spanking, no meal, or both. She preferred the double amount of spanking if she could have a small piece of bread.

She looked up. Her eyes caught the figure in the window on the second floor. The same window she had seen the partial face of the ghost. But this time, it fully sat on the windowsill with the curtains wide open. It was a girl ghost.

Misty stood there, too mesmrized to move.

The ghost girl spotted her. Like a dream, she disappeared into the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are more than welcome :)


	3. Chapter 3

Moira seemed too fed up for any form of punishment. But since her return, she kept her non-cloudy eye on Misty and rarely left her side.

Not a single complaint left Misty’s mouth. Instead, she slaved away like the most diligent servant in the history of the manor. The only words she ever said were ‘yes, ma’am’s and ‘what should I do next’s.

She even agreed to help Spalding wash the automobile, although neither party was content with the arrangement. Misty never forgot his uncivil treatment of her at the ash storage.

It grew fun, though, as she realized that they wouldn’t let her near the state-of-the-art vehicle otherwise. She couldn’t wait to brag about this to Kyle. It would make him fume with envy.

Another delightful fact she learned during this chore was that Spalding now seemed to have a fear of her. Everytime he accidentally stood in her biting range, he would scurry away with an almost indiscernible start and a sour scowl afterwards. This entertained her to no end. So, that was her to-go when she needed a brief distraction from the mountain of chores in her care.

Like this, another week or so passed at the manor. Moira’s watchful eye became more and more lenient by the day.

And finally one day, Moira said, “Why don’t you clean the windows today? I trust you’ll be fine on your own.”

Misty kept up her diligence. Not because she cleaned up her act, but because they couldn't harbor any suspicion against her sincerity. She had a secret plan.

Any chore that required her to go outside was her favorite. She cleaned the windows as much as she could reach. Afterwards, she lingered a bit, taking a brisk walk around the manor in order to steal a glance at the window on the second floor.

The curtains were usually closed during the day. The ghost girl tended to sit by the window at late hours, Misty had learned that much. But it wasn’t enough.

It was time to put her plan into action.

That night, she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling without a blink. The seduction of sleep was strong, and her past attempts had failed precisely because of it. Not tonight.

When Moira’s  gentle snoring began to fill the room, Misty snuck out of bed and tiptoed through the hallway to the entrance hall. There was a staircase to the second floor. No matter what, even when she offered to dust the railing, they never allowed her access upstairs. But her destination was clear-- The room at the very end of the hallway on her right.

With the goal in mind, she ascended the stairs one step at a time. It was nearly pitch-dark at the top of it, away from the blessing of the moonlight.

She kept going. To her confusion, however, two doors greeted her at the end of the hallway. One in front of her and another on her right. Neither had a sign that could help her in that moment.

She gave the one in front a shot. It didn’t budge. Pressing her cheek down against the carpeted floor, she tried to look inside through the gap under the door, but only saw darkness.

It was when a faint sound came from the other room. She tried the doorknob, and it creaked open this time. The same faint rustling sound came again.

“Hello?” Misty said. “Is anybody in here?”

No response.

In front of her, there was a window with sheer curtains, inviting the moonlight in. Misty thought she recognized the curtains. The room had bookshelves full of books on one side and a canopy bed large enough for possibly ten Mistys on the other side.

She looked around more from the threshold. There was something at the foot of the bed. She stepped in, getting a closer look at it-- It was a stuffed toy of a deer. The simple sight of it knocked all the air out of her lungs, as though a gigantic sack of money was left unattended in an open field. But she resisted the urge to touch it, to feel how soft it was. Her brother always said it was rude to touch someone’s belongings without their permission. She didn’t want the ghost girl to think she was rude.

So, she went back to stand at the door, like a respectable servant that she was. “My name is Misty. I have a brother called Kyle that lives in the town to become a blacksmith. I used to live in the nearby village, but Ma died, and now I live here. What’s your name?”

Still, no answer came.

Perhaps, it wasn’t enough to summon the ghost, Misty thought. There might be a special chant, a certain manner of talking to it, or an offering to make.

“Okay, I understand if you don’t feel like talking now. I will come back again.”

With that, Misty closed the door and went back to her bedroom.

...

The whole encounter felt like a realistic dream, one that sat very close to the border between her subconscious and the reality. But despite the feeling, Misty had no doubt it was real. She believed it the same way people believed in the Higher Being. There was no need for proof.

She had to figure out what to do about the ghost. But her chores barely allowed her time for it, and the lack of sleep proved disastrous as she nearly dozed off in the middle of the hallway as well as outside. Absolutely no energy left for her brain.

By the dinner time, she felt like a hundred-year-old earthworm with no power to even keep her own head up. She didn't even remember how she’d managed to sit at the dining table.

A sharp metallic sound rang. Misty jerked awake and looked down at her hand to find that her spoon was now on the floor.

“Have you lost your back bone? Sit up straight,” Moira said.

Misty nodded, her eyelids losing against gravity again. She mumbled.

“Use your words.”

“May I go to bed already?” Misty said.

“You may, but if you do, don’t wake me up in the middle of the night to complain you’re hungry.”

So, Misty excused herself, grateful for Moira's kindness.

But as Moira predicted, she woke up in the dead of the night with hunger that bored a hole in her stomach. Moira was snoring. The sky outside the window was dark, and it was hard to tell how long she had to wait until breakfast.

She tried to ignore the ache and go back to sleep like she'd always done her entire life. Yet, the stomach that had gotten used to being fed regularly refused to accept it. Mable gave in and went to the kitchen, because technically, all Moira had asked was not to be woken up. She wasn't breaking any orders by helping herself.

Out of the breadbox on the cupboard, she obtained a roll. It absorbed all the moisture in her mouth. She wondered, forcing the bread down her throat, if the ghost girl ever felt hunger. Probably not, because a ghost doesn’t have a physical body-- But she could be wrong, just as she didn’t believe in ghosts until very recently.

It could be the right kind of offering for the ghost girl. This food. Back in the village, there was one elderly widow who bought a cigarette for her deceased husband every anniversary, lighting it at his grave. Her brother and she thought it was absurd, but the widow insisted her husband was with her, enjoying the gift.

“The moment the smoke rises, I can feel him right next to me,” the old woman would say.

If that was all it took to summon a ghost, there was no justification for not giving it a try. Grabbing another roll, Misty returned to the room upstairs.

The door opened, and she heard something move around the canopy bed.

“Hello? It’s Misty. Remember me?”

Silence.

But Misty noticed that the stuffed deer now sat on the edge of the bed, facing the door. She walked in, looked around, and stared at the toy’s tender face. And something clicked in her that maybe this deer _was_ the ghost girl. A human girl by day and a deer toy by night, like a flower that opens only in the sun. Or, it could change form at will. Either way, the ghost must have two forms, and Misty had had the pleasure of witnessing both. It must be so.

Misty couldn’t feel any prouder of herself for discovering such a great wonder without anyone’s help.

With the new-found awe, she put the roll of bread in front of the toy. “I hope you like bread. Tell me, do you ever get hungry?” She sat on the mattress by the deer’s side and munched on her own roll. “I like your ribbon. Very pretty.” Sher pointed at the pink tie around its neck. “You’re a pretty in the human form, too. Ma always wanted me to look like a princess, but Kyle said it was impossible because even when I cleaned up, I still looked like the prince’s donkey. It’s okay. I like donkeys.”

Like this, she kept talking, not paying attention to the fact that the deer never said a word. She was used to it. And as her stomach calmed down for the time being, sleepiness returned. She lay down on the mattress that felt like heaven on earth, just for a little rest.

When something woke her up from dreamless sleep, dawn was about to break outside the window. Disoriented, she remained still, staring at the narrow light over the horizon for some moments.

Then, her eyes were fully open. She jumped off the bed and, without looking back, scuttled back downstairs. To her relief, she managed to return just in time to see Moira come out of their bedroom. She pretended to have returned from the toilet room herself on the spur of the moment, and it miraculously worked.

…

That was a narrow escape that made Misty shiver and sweat every time she recalled it. She would not like to experience that ever again. Getting caught red-handed on the second floor, not just in the ghost room, meant something very bad. What kind of bad, she didn’t know exactly. But her little brain understood with clarity that if she displeased them, they could very well send her away.

It was once everything she wished for. Now, it was the last thing she wanted.

She had to be more careful. So, she made a promise with herself to never visit the ghost room without enough sleep. Although, such an opportunity seemed to never come.

If she knew the alphabet, she could write the ghost a letter, would tell it all about her days and her family.

Moira knew how to read and write. Once a month she received a letter from her mother in a faraway village, and over the course of a week or so, she would spend a little bit of time before going to bed to write her back.

But Misty didn’t want to ask her to teach her.

Everytime Moira sat at the desk, she wept and sighed. It sometimes kept Misty awake in her bed. The candlelight made her face look old and worn out, crumpled in some kind of pain. And Misty thought it was because writing was a grueling task even for an adult.

Therefore, writing letters was out of the question. And there was no guarantee that the ghost knew the alphabet, either.

She needed another means. A means that could possibly get the ghost to talk, too.

She rested her hand from scrubbing the floor and looked out the window. The view of the hill from this angle had grown familiar. It felt like a long time ago that she was admiring the manor from the bottom of the hill with her brother. Those were the ignorant days.

But those were also the blissful days, full of love and bite-sized joy. She wondered if she could have that kind of happiness ever again.

An idea popped up in her mind.

Abandoning the chore, she ran to the kitchen, where Moira was having a tea break. Misty hadn’t known servants were allowed to take a break like that. It wasn't important now, though. The problem was that if she tried to go outside, Moira would nitpick over it for certain.

So, Misty climbed out of the nearby window instead. She made a small snowball first, and on her way around the manor, rolled it in the snow to make it bigger. But soon it had grown too heavy to roll any farther by herself, which was uncalculated. Had Kyle been with her, he could’ve helped her. She had to start over.

The next one she made was only tall enough to reach her knees. She placed it by the tree under the window of the ghost room. There was a straight vertical groove along the entire length of the tree, she noticed now. While observing the peculiar tree, she made a smaller snowball and put it on the first one. The snowman stood right between the window and the tree. It would be hard to overlook it even in the snow. This would hopefully please the ghost girl.

She built two more snowmen of the same size, lining them up next to one another. They still had no face or arms. So, she went around the manor in order to pick up some pebbles and twigs.

It was when an automobile appeared rumbling in the distance. Misty dropped everything and ran back to climb in through the same window near the kitchen.

Although it was easy to climb in, closing the window didn’t go as easily. She pulled and pulled, but her cold hands throbbed, and the window kept slipping from her grip. Eventually she had to give up.

Her cleaning tools were still left in the hallway on the other side of the manor. She had to return there before someone caught her slacking off.

But her luck had run out here. As she crossed the entrance hall, a shadow materialized. She bumped into it, head first, and fell on her butt.

A lady towered over her, patting the part of her extravagant black dress Misty might have touched. Her floral perfume wafted through the air.

“What on earth is this creature?” the lady said. “Spalding, get this wet rat out of my sight.”

The mute servant appeared out of thin air. With an unusually combative stance, he made her stand up and gave her a shove from behind.

Barely catching herself from falling, Misty glared at him and at the lady in black.

“What are you looking at? Can’t say sorry?” the lady said.

Misty didn’t answer.

Sure, it was her fault that she’d run into the lady, and she was indeed wet, leaving obvious shoe prints across the hall. But none of this gave the lady--Queen or Empress--the right to treat her like vermin. If there was anybody who believed otherwise, then they certainly did not deserve her apology no matter what.

They couldn’t seem to give a damn, though. With his long hand in the back of her head, Spalding forced Misty to bow down to the lady. Misty swatted his hand out of instinct, baring her teeth to remind him of the things she was capable of.

Next moment, the back of the lady’s hand came into contact with her cheek. The force threw her down on the marble floor for the second time this day. For a moment, she remained there motionless and speechless.

The lady said something to Spalding, and that snapped Misty out of her trance. Without another glance at them, she ran down the hall as soon as she got on her feet.

Back in her bedroom, she buried herself in the bed and fought back the impending flood of tears. The cheek that vicious lady had slapped burned. It didn’t hurt as much as her heart did. That lady must be Mrs. Goode, their mistress. She couldn’t fathom how someone so beautiful and sweet-smelling could be such an evil thing.

Later, Moira came in. She sat on the edge of Misty’s bed and placed a gentle hand on her head. It almost made her cry.

“I heard what happened,” Moira said. “You shouldn’t have behaved like that, Misty.”

“She slapped me.”

“That’s entirely your fault. You have to respect the owner of the house-- Here, let me see your face.” She made Misty sit up.

“Ma never slapped me like that.”

Moira put her palm on Misty’s cheek. It felt nice and cold. “You can have the afternoon off. Have a good rest, and you’ll feel less edgy.”

Though Misty doubted it’d solve her problems, she didn’t protest to the serendipitous suggestion.

The moment Moira left the bedroom, she jumped out of bed, ascertained the hallway was empty, and went outside through the same window. Now that the shackles of work were off--though only for the time being--she felt a new surge of energy as she kicked snow.

She resumed the aesthetic operations on the snowmen and afterwards made snowboys and snowgirls. A couple of snowdogs, too. The bigger the family, the better. They looked nicer than the village people.

When she got bored of it, she rolled around and made snow angels. For the first time since her mother’s passing, Misty felt like her true self. No sorrow or no evil adults. Just the sky, the snow, and her in between.

And from the snow, she lifted her head to look at the window. The deer toy had come to sit by the window, looking back at her.

Misty felt beyond excited. Her prayers had been answered at last. All she wanted now was to dash upstairs and talk to the ghost. And then, it dawned on her that she could do exactly that if she took some sleep now. The opportunity she’d been waiting for.

She returned inside and, as elated as she felt, made best efforts to sleep for the night to come.

…

Spalding seemed jumpier around Misty at dinner, as she picked up in an instant. He would never show his back to her even out of her reach, nor did he allow his eyes to wander off her. So, Misty did the same to him the entire duration of dinner. Not as a sign of cowardice, but of her bravery. That caused Spalding to shrink away even more.

Wimpy dogs like him only dared to bark at enemies when their owner was watching them. They couldn’t be oblivious to what would happen to them in the absence of their owner, but they had no other choice. Misty found it fascinating.

However, she had no extra time to mock the old dog. Quickly finishing the meal, she returned to take a nap once again.

The world was asleep when she woke up with a clear mind. With a roll of bread from the kitchen, she made her way up to the ghost room on tiptoe.

As if the ghost was expecting Misty, the deer toy was back on the bed like last time.

“Good evening, did you like the snowmen I made for you today?”

She went closer to make the offering of the roll, but there was already something in front of the deer-- It was the lucky charm of her brother.

“Kyle’s necklace!” She grabbed it at the speed of light. “How come you have it?”

She didn’t expect for a response as she sat down next to the deer. That was why it astonished her when a fragile voice came.

“I found it outside.”

Misty ogled at the deer. “You did? And you give it back to me?”

“You talked about it the last time you were here.”

She had no recollection of it. It was impossible to remember everything she said in her drowsy state. “Thank you so very much. This is very important to me.” She secured it around her neck. “What is your name? Mine’s Misty.”

A pause. “Cordelia.”

“How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“You are the same age as my brother. But, he still looks like a baby.”

Cordelia giggled.

Misty fiddled with the necklace. She wanted to verify the rumor, to ask if Cordelia really was a ghost, but wondered whether it was an impolite thing to do. It wouldn’t offend _her_ if someone asked if she was a boy or a girl. Still, maybe ghosts had a different idea of manners from that of humans.

In the end, she offered the bread instead.

“I already ate,” Cordelia said. “You can have it.”

Misty sank her teeth into the bread without hesitation. “Did you like the snowmen outside the window?” she said with her mouth full.

“I did. But, what were you doing lying in the snow?”

“Oh-- It’s called snow angels. You make wings with your arms and legs. Haven’t you never seen one before?”

“No. Isn’t it cold?”

Misty shrugged. “Of course. It’s snow. But it’s fun and pretty. Don’t you go outside much?”

“Mother says I shouldn’t,” Cordelia said in an even quieter tone.

“Who’s your mama?”

“Fiona.”

Misty didn’t know anyone called Fiona. “Why doesn’t she want you to go outside?”

“She says that it’s for my own sake. If people see me, something bad happens.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something bad.”

“‘Cause you’re a ghost?” Misty said it before she could stop herself.

The pause that followed felt tense. She feared it had displeased the ghost.

“I’m not a ghost,” Cordelia said at last. “I’m a witch.”

Now, it got Misty completely hooked, the bread forgotten in her lap. Of course, Cordelia was a witch. She had the power of transformation. It was such an obvious fact in hindsight that she felt a bit embarrassed. Kyle had always said she was like the slowest one of the cattle.

But it also made her feel uncertain of her current situation. Ghosts didn’t frighten her in any way because, after all, they didn’t exist. A witch on the other hand-- Misty had to up her courtesy, or else she might be turned into a snail or something.

“What kind of things can you do, Miss Cordelia?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you make fire or put a curse on someone?”

“No-- I don’t know.”

If the answer to the latter part of the question had been a yes, Misty would’ve skedaddled out of the room and out of the manor. But Cordelia didn’t sound like the type of witch that ate child nuggets for a snack, at least.

“Then, why do your mama call you a witch?” Misty said.

“She says she gets a feeling looking at me. She just knows.”

Tilting her head, Misty looked into the deer’s face. “I don’t feel nothing. You look very pretty, though. Maybe your mama is just jealous.”

Cordelia let out a giggle. “You’re funny.”

Misty smiled as she lay down. The canopy glowed in the ghostly moonlight over her head, and it hit her that this was Cordelia’s entire world.

“It must be boring having to sit in here all day,” Misty said. “I could be your friend. We could play together.”

“A friend?”

“Uh-huh. You know what a friend is, right?”

“I do, but I’ve never had one before," Cordelia said.

So, Misty promised to be her first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you guys think so far? let me know?


	4. Chapter 4

The earliest memory of Cordelia was the view of the snowy hill outside the window. The reticent square cut-out of the world. She knew every corner of it to the smallest details by heart, retaining the memory unweathered even after many years.

She was too small to reach the windowsill when she first began looking out. So, she would sit on the bed, placed away from the window, and crane her neck to absorb as much of the world as she could. Today, she could sit on the windowsill with no trouble.

It was the only change in her life. Her body grew, while the world available to her remained frozen like an illustration in a book. Perhaps, the biggest event in recent years was the one time when lightning struck the tree outside the window right before her eyes. Two or three years ago, she couldn’t remember.

Her mother only stopped by infrequently. Every few words she uttered had numbing venom. Cordelia was used to all of it. Still, part of her never ceased to yearn for the muffled thuds of her mother’s shoes on the carpet, climbing up the stairs, coming closer to her room. When the door opened, there was always one type of grimace or another across her face.

Her mother, Fiona, said she was a witch. A fact evident in her appearance according to her. But she never bothered to clarify for her daughter, or allowed for a mirror in the bedroom.

Only in the window did Cordelia manage to have the most vague impression of her own face. There was nothing out of the ordinary to the best of her knowledge. The color of her skin seemed no different from other people’s. Her ears and nose didn’t feel disproportionately big or sharp.

Perhaps, this whole thing was a false narrative, she often wondered lately. It might be a mere cover-up for something equally or more horrendous. Perhaps, the real cause for the chagrin of her mother wasn’t her witch-ness, but her ugliness. So hideous that the entire world would be better off ignorant of her existence. It didn’t sound like a very outrageous possibility to her.

And perhaps, she looked like Moira, with one cloudy eye and her face that always seemed on the verge of tears. Although there was little to no bond between them, the servant was the closest thing Cordelia had to a caregiver.

“Dinner is served.” Moira entered the bedroom and put a food tray on the table.

Cordelia stood up from the windowsill.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to sit there with the curtains open?” Moira said. “You know what your mother would say.”

“There was nobody outside.”

“Or, you just didn’t see them. Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”

With a flat apology, Cordelia sat down, and Moira left with the empty plates from the morning.

She ate alone. After that, she spent the afternoon reading like always.

Books were the only indulgence allowed to her. Her favorite stories were the ones with a princess trapped in a tower, guarded by an undefeated dragon. Everytime she read those stories, she fantasized that her life would someday turn upside-down at the arrival of her savior, too, and that this was only an ephemeral dream of someone else.

Then, the girl arrived on the hill one day. Misty, she was called, from the faraway, nameless village in the left corner of her window frame. She ran and glowed, living instead of being allowed to live. Her laughter-- Cordelia had never heard the sound of laughter before, and it mesmerized her so much she forgot to be careful.

When their eyes met, Cordelia felt petrified. She expected Fiona to storm into the room at any moment and take her books away as she always threatened. Or, she might throw her in the dungeon, where there was no books or windows. To her dreadful bafflement, however, her mother looked the opposite of furious that night. She gave Cordelia a stuffed toy of a deer, saying she’d had it made for her. The surprise kiss on Cordelia’s forehead smelled of wine.

Even after that incident, Cordelia managed to get caught by the girl many times more. She wasn’t being careless. But everytime she thought it was safe to to look out, regardless of time of day, the girl happened to be there as well, looking back.

She had no idea what the other girl wanted, though it became clear in time that nobody else was aware of this. It was a secret between them. Her first connection with another human being besides her mother and Moira. That made her tingly and shivery with exhilaration. All of her being felt famished for their through-the-glass rendezvous more and more each day, and her daydreams began to revolve around the girl.

She liked to imagine something powerful from above protected the two of them and their secret.

Maybe this belief was what led her to make a bold move that she had only made a couple of times in her life-- She snuck out of the room at night. The last time she’d come out of the room, her naivete was still raw, her faith in disobedience in a sizzle. It had sunk too deep within her for a rebirth since, or so she’d thought.

She crept out through the kitchen. She hoped to spot the girl under her window at the back of the manor, even if it meant risking getting caught. But there was nobody else. Dejected, she leaned against the lighting-struck tree and looked at her window, just to feel a little closer to the girl.

On her way back in, she found the pendant of a canine tooth right outside the kitchen door.

Despite knowing better to leave it there, she couldn’t resist the urge to take it to her bedroom with her. It was her trophy. She felt like one of the brave and lucky adventurers in her books.  

Little did she know it belonged to the girl.

...

Now Misty said they were friends. For the first week, Cordelia constantly found herself wondering if this was a dream. Each time she saw Misty out the window, the doubt intensified, giving a vertiginous twist in her stomach. Though, she had no means to verify it. She could only wait.

And Misty did come back next week, and again the week after that. Only once a week, during the hours of the high Moon.

“Moira now lets me have a day off every week,” Misty said.

“Okay.”

“I can have enough rest to stay awake for you.”

“That’s good.”

Cordelia didn’t know how to have conversations with her at first. Listening and obedient responses at the right time were the only thing she ever knew about talking. They had never taught her anything else. One saving grace was that Misty sounded excited enough to just hear her voice, and it put Cordelia at ease.

The girl thought she was the deer toy, though. What a funny girl. Cordelia couldn't help her smile as she hid behind the bed whenever Misty commented on the toy’s appearance.

And the Moon would disappear beyond the horizon, and another long week of waiting would start. She would sit by the window at every opportunity, a book in her lap, and wait. Even if Misty’s visit during the day was spontaneous and brief. Even if she had to keep hiding behind the curtains when Misty actually showed up.

Misty brought many things from the outside for Cordelia to feel connected with nature. From a lizard’s tail to a snowball so dense that it had an icy surface, to a dirtball with a rock in it. Nature smelled strange, different from books and her mother’s perfume. Cordelia treasured them all and hid them behind her books, where she knew nobody would bother to look.

“What’s it like outside the house?” she said from behind the bed.

Misty was lying on the bed next to the deer toy. “There’s only the woods.”

“Are there any other villages?”

“No,” Misty said. “You have to go to the other side of the town to see another village, I think.”

“What’s the town like? Have you been there?”

“A few times, to get some food.” Her voice lacked enthusiasm. “There are a lot of people, rich people.”

Cordelia tried to imagine the bustle of the town, tried to make the illustrations from her books come to life in her mind.

“Fiona has many suitors in the town, I think. She spends a lot of time there.”

“What’s a suitor?” Misty said. “Someone who makes suits?”

“It’s someone that escorts you.”

“What does escort mean?”

Cordelia didn’t know really. It was a word Moira had used when describing the men her mother liked to spend time with. It never occurred to her to ask what the word meant. All she knew was that it wasn’t synonymous to the word friend.

“So, if your mama isn’t away all the time, who takes care of you?”

“Moira does. She brings me food and washes my hair. Ever since I was little.”

“Just Moira? Do you know Spalding?”

“I don’t like him. He’s not nice.” Cordelia thought for a moment. “We had another servant before. Adea. She taught me many things like the alphabet, but she left.”

“You know how to write?” Misty turned over on her belly, getting closer to where Cordelia hid.

She shrank her body. “I do.”

Misty made a woo sound. “I don’t. Most of the adults in the village don’t, not even Uncle Arthur.”

A sense of pride spread inside her. She knew something Misty, with her unlimited access to the world outside, didn’t. “I could teach you if you want.”

“But it’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Only at first. You don't even think about it once you get used to it."

“Really?” Misty still sounded skeptical. "You must be much smarter than Moira, then."

Cordelia wondered if it was even possible. "I do read more than her."

“I know how to spell the M, you know, because that’s my initial, right?" Her hand rose and wrote the letter in the air. She gave a big yawn. "And there's the K for Kyle. I can't write it, but I know when I see it."

At this point, Misty's speech was all but a mumble with intermittent yawns.

No matter how much sleep she'd had during the day, Misty never seemed to be able to stay awake until the dawn.

"But how great will that be," Misty said almost to herself, "to have you as my teacher. I've never had a teacher before, or lessons. I think I'd like that..."

Cordelia waited in the shadow. When there was nothing but the sound of soft, steady breathing, she crawled onto the bed, where she took in every detail of the sleeping girl's features in the dark.

...

The promise of their first lesson thrilled Cordelia. Never in her life had she imagined she’d have the privilege of sharing her knowledge with someone who cared.

But there was one problem. Teaching meant she would have to show herself, her human form, to Misty. It hadn’t crossed her mind at the time of the promise, but now she felt scared. Something bad could befall Misty if she saw the real Cordelia.

She needed more time to mull this over. One week was not long enough anymore.

Lost in thought, she failed to notice Misty under the window quickly enough. The girl waved her hand, and Cordelia hastened to hide. It was in this moment that it dawned on her-- Misty had seen her many times before, even though from a relative distance.

Had it caused misfortune in her life? Although Cordelia didn’t know anything about the girl’s life, Misty had told her about her deceased mother during her first visit to the bedroom. And she always talked about her brother, snatched out of her life the day after her mother’s passing.

Maybe her evil powers had caused all of them.

“Moira, about the new servant,” Cordelia said when the maid brought lunch. “What do you know about her?”

Moira put food the tray down and seemed eager to leave. “Not much. Why do you ask?”

“I got curious. How did she come to serve here?”

“I don’t know, darling. How did you know about her?”

Cordelia panicked. “Fiona told me before. Complained about her.”

It didn’t seem to convince her entirely. “For your own good, stay away from her. She’s a nobody. She’s already tried to run away many times now and someday might succeed, in fact.”

That idea frightened her to the core. She was so attached to Adea that it devastated her when the servant absconded with a man from the town. If Misty took the same path, it’d be the end of Cordelia’s world. No, not now that she knew what it meant to live out of solitude. She wouldn’t have it.

Perhaps, she thought, Misty would stay with her forever if Cordelia pleased her enough. She knew how. The girl had often mentioned her desire to see Cordelia’s human form. No doubt it’d make her happy.

But again, what were the odds of it causing more misfortune?

That night, Moira came for the once-every-other-week hair washing. Cordelia sat in the bathtub, knees touching her chest, as Moira rubbed her head with a bar of soap.

“What would happen if someone sees me?” Cordelia said.

Moira remained quiet for some moments. “Why do you ask? Do you have any concerns?”

“No. Of course, I don’t have any concerns. I just realized you’ve never explained to me.”

There came no immediate response. Lukewarm water poured over her head and blocked Cordelia from seeing her face.

Moira wringed her dripping hair out by hand. “Well, you’ll never have to know-- Step out of the tub. Come to the fire quick, or you’ll catch a cold.”

Cordelia obeyed and never pressed for an answer.

...

The next visiting day came too fast.

Her mind was still not made up. She couldn’t concentrate, sleep, or eat. Sitting was as draining as walking around the room. Moira raised an eyebrow at her untouched lunch, though she kept her mouth shut as any good servant should. Better leave it unsaid. Cordelia couldn't have responded in the proper manner anyhow.

Gnawing fear filled her to the tips of her fingers. There were so many possible ways in which tonight could go wrong. One major anxiety was the prospect of more adversities in Misty’s life, but another one felt equally dreadful.

What if Misty saw her and decided Cordelia was too ugly to be her friend? It might disgust her so much she would tell on her. Then, Misty would be cut out of her life all the same.

The blurred face of hers on the window glass looked back. She wished she looked like the princess from her favorite book. But the chances were that she was the abhorrent beast, and no true love's kiss could turn her into something she never was.

She felt lost. It was never her duty to make such grand decisions. It was always Fiona making the rules and decisions for her, and Moira making sure she obeyed them.

Before she managed to make up her mind, the night came. She continued to debate whether or not to do it until the last moment, ready to hide behind the toy deer. As he sat in bed, her stomach churned and twisted. The same sensation of despair she felt when her mother yelled her, but stronger.

The door creaked open.

Cordelia's body paralyzed. With her head turned to the door, she could do nothing but watch the shadow of Misty sneak through the narrowest crack in the door.

There was a gasp. "Miss Cordelia is that you?"

Words failed her.

"Can't you speak?" Misty sounded concerned as she closed the door and came close.

"I can." Her fragile voice shook. Remembering about the toy in her grip, she threw it in her hiding place behind the bed.

"It's really you." Misty sat next to her. "This is for you."

Usually Misty would put her gifts in front of the deer toy, and Cordelia would examine them after her departure in the morning. This time, Cordelia received it straight from her hand.

It was a flower, wilted and sodden.

“There was one tree that had flowers before any other,” Misty said. “Do you like it?”

Cordelia nodded, words still clogging her throat. But as far as she could tell, Misty showed no sign of revulsion against her appearance.  

“Does this mean,” Cordelia said, “that spring has come?”

"I think so. It doesn't snow as much, and the days are getting longer. I like when the days are longer. Means I could play longer, well, when I lived with Kyle and Ma."

They fell into silence.

Even after many moments of grief like this, Cordelia still had no idea how to console the girl. In stories, sad people embraced each other, cried together. But many things were fictional, not true to the essence of reality, like dragons and teatime. The purpose of their existence was to make the story more entertaining. This embrace thing could be one of them, too. Cordelia certainly had never been hugged before.

“Miss Cordelia?” Misty said. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Touch me?”

Misty offered a bashful smile. “I can’t believe you’re finally showing me your human form, and I’m a bit scared that this maybe a dream.”

“Okay.” Cordelia reached out. But not knowing what kind of contact was desired, she opted to wait for Misty’s move.

The girl’s little hand started its journey on her shoulder, poking and brushing her hair from there. It descended to Cordelia’s hand, then. Her touch felt soft unlike Moira’s and warm unlike Fiona’s.

Everything about Misty in this moment invalidated what Cordelia knew about humans.

“You are real,” Misty said. “You’re real!”

She started to giggle, and it made Cordelia do the same. Their shoulders shook as they sought to stifle their laugh with their hands over the mouth.

Misty’s hand came to hold hers again. “I like this more than your deer body. It’s cute and all, but sometimes I feel like I’m talking to myself. This”--She squeezed her hand--”I like this much more.”

Cordelia nodded. “Me, too.”

“We can do so many things together. Not just talking. Like dancing and hide-and-seek, and what else…”

“Reading,” Cordelia said, feeling a bit proud to be of help.

“But I don’t know how to read.”

“I know, and I promised to teach you last week. Do you remember?” She began to feel disheartened. It crossed her mind that Misty had forgotten and didn’t want her helping hand anymore.

“Oh, you did?” Misty grew quiet, but soon smiled. “Okay. I’m a bit scared, but if you’re my teacher, I think I can do it.”

“Okay.”

Cordelia slid off the bed and, still hand in hand, took Misty to the writing desk by the bookshelves. There was a half-read book on it. Misty ran her fingers across the cover.

“Never touched a book before.” Misty grinned. “But I’ll remember all the alphabets tonight and write you a little letter tomorrow. I know I can do it.”

Cordelia took her words as seriously as Misty did, and it made her anxious. She wasn't that good of a teacher. She turned on the oil lamp with a match nonetheless. Everything became clear.

The light touched Misty's face, too, flickering in the eyes that stared back at Cordelia.

“Oh, your eyes--” Misty said.

In the next breath, Cordelia saw her fatal mistake. In overwhelming panic, she covered her face with hands, ran to her hiding place, and curled up as small as possible. Tears streamed down her cheeks. What was she thinking? It was a bad idea to begin with. Now, Misty had seen her monsterous face. She would surely walk away in disgust, never to return.

She wanted to be invisible.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and Cordelia flinched.

“What’s wrong, Miss Cordelia? It’s just me. Please, don’t be scared.”

“No, I’m ugly.”

“Ugly? No, Miss Cordelia, you aren’t ugly at all. Please, stop hiding like that.” Misty pulled at her. Her hands, despite their gentleness, were insistent.

At last, Cordelia raised her tear-soaked face and looked at the girl.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Misty said. “Just-- I never seen anything like ‘em before. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

While it relieved her to see Misty unfazed, another question arose.

“Anything like what?”

“Your eyes. I never seen anyone with eyes of different colors-- But I don’t hate them. They are very beautiful.”

“My eyes have different colors?”

Misty nodded. “Never seen yourself in the mirror?”

“Fiona says I’d curse myself if I did.” Then, she quickly looked up. “Are you okay? Do you feel something different?”

Misty felt her forehead and moved her limbs, flexing the wrists. “I’m fine.”

But the fear clung to Cordelia like a fetid odor. “Maybe it hasn’t appeared yet. I shouldn’t have done this--” Walking past Misty, she extinguished the lamp fire.

They were back in the dark.

“No-- Turn it back on.” Misty came nearer. The outline of her figure was indiscernible after the brief exposure to the light.

“Don’t want to.”

“Turn it on. I hate this darkness.” Misty stomped once. “I’m telling you I’m fine.”

“Please, don’t make loud noises. Someone could hear you.”

They both listened for any sound with bated breath. There was only silence.

“But-- But--” Misty said. “How are we going to learn the alphabet in the dark, hmm?”

She made a good point. And a little voice inside the head of Cordelia whispered that refusal would send Misty away for good. From the beginning, she didn’t have any other option.

With the flick of a match, the protective shroud met its demise. It illuminated Misty’s grin as she opened the book on the desk.


	5. Chapter 5

No noticeable tragedy occurred to either of them after that night. Still, Cordelia couldn’t let her guard down. The lack of change seemed nothing but skeptical. It could be lurking in the corner of the room, like a mischievous house fairy. 

But several weeks passed, and Misty was still in her life, in her room. The softness of peace had grown on her. Her fear gradually lost its voice. Now, one of her favorite things was to look at Misty’s face in the light during their lessons.

Learning the alphabet overnight turned out to be an unattainable goal, of course. Even Cordelia had to repeat the same boring exercise every day for a month to finally be able to read on her own.

In Misty’s case, it took more than a month. She only had a small fraction of free time during the week, so their time together once a week was the only learning opportunity. 

But they couldn’t spend the entire night learning, either. Misty liked to start by telling her every interesting thing that had happened since their last get-together and showing her gifts. Sometimes, Misty even talked through the night. Her concentration wouldn’t last long even if she felt motivated enough at the start. She would sit in the chair in an uninhibited way Cordelia could only dream of, and would fall asleep with a pencil in her hand.

Cordelia would read her a story for a diversion when that happened. It was a better solution than letting Misty wander off the desk, at least. And if done right, it could get Misty excited and motivated again. 

The problem, though, was that the girl could get too excited. She would insist on reading for Cordelia, get stuck on words in the first paragraph, and throw a fit out of frustration. 

Misty pushed the book farther away across the desk. “I don't want to do the ABC anymore. It’s boring. I just want to read you a story and write you a letter, is all.”

“You will soon. Don’t give up.”

“I already know all the letters. I can spell them perfectly,” Misty said, while spelling her name as MiƧty across paper. 

The tantrum was part of their routines now. Although it no longer threw Cordelia into a panic like the first time, it still perturbed her. She didn’t know what was the best thing to do. Pressing Misty didn’t seem ideal. It could make Misty see her as a mean teacher like Adea was to her. She didn’t want that. The old servant often slapped her in the back of her hand at the slightest sign of inattentiveness, which could be as insignificant as shifting in the chair. Cordelia never had any other teacher, but she knew Adea wasn't a good model.

If only Misty could see the little achievements she was making. When she’d learned to spell Cordelia’s name before all the alphabets, it was all she talked about for a while. This was when Cordelia received the first letter from her, filled with their names in a worm-like handwriting. But the high was momentary. There was fear in Cordelia that one night, Misty would look her in the eye and blame it all on her bad teaching. 

To her relief, that never happened. Misty’s literacy improved enough to move onto reading lessons three months later. A welcoming change for them both, until they realized it wasn’t as straightforward as the first stage. There were only twenty six alphabets. Combinations of them seemed limitless.

Misty enunciated each word, following the sentence with her index finger. “... and, put on her an old gray kirtle.” She tilted her head. “What's a kirtle?”

“I think it's a type of garment. A dress like this.” Cordelia showed the illustration on the following page.

Misty resumed reading. “... the sisters did their utmost to-- What's utmost mean?” She pronounced it  _ yout-most _ . 

But having never heard anyone pronounce the word, Cordelia didn’t have enough confidence to correct her. “It means best or most.”

“Then why doesn't it just say most? Why do we need more than one word?” 

“I don’t know.”

Misty looked down at the book with a sigh. “... In the evenings, when she was quiet tired--”

“Quite, not quiet. We saw that one earlier. Do you remember?”

Misty only stared at the word, more confused. When Cordelia pointed at the two words already spelled out on the note, the frown grew bigger. 

“I hate this book.” She stood up and flung

herself facedown on the bed. 

Cordelia went to her. “Maybe I should’ve chosen a little easier book for you?”

“No, I know all the stupid words fine. But I don't like the story. It's stupid and boring.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, because the princess does nothing. She's only good at waiting, and that's boring. If she hates her family, she should run away. That's what I would do if I'm her. But no, instead she waits for a fairy godmother and a prince.”

Words stuck in Cordelia’s throat. It was her favorite book. She’d read it so many times that she knew all the words by heart. 

Misty sat up. “I want to read that story you read me. The beans and the giant. I like that one.”

Contrary to her, Cordelia found the book in question vulgar, full of crass nonsense. But she went to the bookshelves anyway. Everything for Misty. With her hand on the book, she wondered why they couldn’t love and hate the same things. 

The room turned dark.

Misty let out a shriek, scuttling to Cordelia across the room, and looked for a hand to hold. 

“It’s fine,” Cordelia said. “It’s probably the wind.”

Hand in hand, they went to check on the oil lamp. It felt lighter than it should without a doubt. 

“We ran out of oil,” she said. “I need to ask Moira to refill it in the morning.”

“Can’t you relight it with a match?”

Cordelia shook her head. “I wish I had candles. Are you okay? I’m sorry it scared you.”

“I’m not scared at all. I just wanted to hold your hand.” 

The audible pout made Cordelia giggle. “I'm afraid we can't study anymore tonight.”

“Can we talk, then?” Misty took her to the bed.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Misty thought a little. “You decide. Ma always said I talk too much.”

“I like it when you talk. It makes me happy.”

That was true. But also true was that she couldn’t pick a topic if she wanted. It was an art of mystery to her, and Misty looked like an illusionist, pulling topic after topic out of thin air. 

“How about your family? We never talked about that.” There went another magic trick. 

“Okay, but I don't think there's much to talk about," Cordelia said. 

“Do you have Papa?”

“I don't know. Fiona never told me.”

“Mine died before I was still in Ma's belly. What about brothers and sisters?”

Cordelia shook her head again. “I don't know. This is so boring. I'm sorry--”

“Because, maybe we can see if any of them has eyes like yours, right?" Misty said. "Maybe your Papa has blue eyes. Fiona's are brown, right?”

“I think so.”

She couldn't be certain, though. Come to think of it, she'd never looked her own mother in the eye her entire life. 

Misty yawned. “But it's strange. You look nothing like Fiona.”

"What do I look like, then?”

“You’re very pretty. And you have a nose, and a mouth…” The rest of the sentence was incomprehensible. After that, soft snoring came from the darkness. 

Cordelia put blankets on her sleeping friend and sat herself on the windowsill. The coldness of the night in the glass would keep her awake until dawn. Till then, it was her duty to keep Misty safe here.

...

There were many books in her bookshelves Cordelia hadn’t read. In one section at eye level, she kept her favorite ones sorted by color. But other books that didn’t receive as much affection ended up in random places. Adea used to say all books deserved equal love. It sounded nonsensical to Cordelia.

She unearthed old textbooks from the no-man’s land of the bookshelves. When Misty could read better, she wanted to teach her other subjects as well.

As she piled the books up on the desk, Fiona walked in without a knock. She put a book down on top of the pile.

“Moira said you wanted more books. It's the most popular story in the town. A collection of gory folkfores or something. Everyone's talking about it."

Cordelia had asked for adventurous books to Misty’s liking. Behind the front cover, there was a handwritten message.  _ To the loveliest Fiona _ .

“Thank you, mother,” Cordelia said.

Fiona lingered even after that, examining everything in the room except for her daughter. It wouldn’t take long, Cordelia knew. The probe was always superficial. Cordelia’s eyes followed the rim of her dress as it brushed against the carpet. 

Eventually, though, Fiona stood in front of the bookshelves in disarray. Panic-stricken, Cordelia dared to raise her gaze a little. Fiona’s index finger was sliding across the spines of some books. Too close to the hidden gifts from Misty. If she decided to browse one of them, it’d be the end.

"How's the town?" Cordelia said. "It's spring there, too, isn’t it?"

Fiona’s hand stopped. "Of course. Why do you want to know?" 

Her voice made Cordelia feel colder. "Because-- because, it's..." 

She should've picked a better, less harmless question. Heaven forbid she ask anything about the outside world. 

Fiona walked to the window, peeking from between the curtains. "There's nothing to know. It’s boring, filthy, and full of miserable and irritating people all year round. And for you, a dangerous place. Do you know why?"

"Because I'm a witch."

"You’re not one of us. This is the only safe place for you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, mother."

Then, the room turned quiet again. Fiona continued to stare out the window.

Taking advantage of it, Cordelia stole a glance at the profile of her mother. They looked nothing alike, Misty had said as if it was a good thing-- It must be a good thing if Misty said so. But there was no denying that some portion of her wished it wasn’t true. She wanted her to look like her mother, wanted to have an idea of self.

She wondered if it would disappoint Misty.

"Isn't there anything you want?" Fiona said in a soft tone. "You always ask for nothing else but books." 

It alarmed Cordelia a little. "No, mother. I don't want anything else."

“How about new dresses? When was it that I bought you that one?”

The dress on her at this particular moment was a reach-me-down from Moira’s niece, who had received it from her sister. It was some years ago that it came into Cordelia’s hands. She didn’t care to remember. 

Fiona came closer. “Just because you can't leave this room doesn't mean you can't enjoy fashion. Or, how does a perfume sound, hmm?" She brought her wrist to Cordelia’s nose and to her own afterwards.

It was unnecessary to make her sniff it, however. The entire room had been infested with the scent the second Fiona walked in.

"This is a new product. White rose. Do you like it?"

Cordelia nodded. "Thank you, but I don't need any of them. I'm not interested. It's true."

Fiona didn't reply. Instead, she returned to looking out the window with a subtle sigh.

By the second, the silence grew more and more nauseating for Cordelia. She preferred having her mother’s explosive wrath sweep her away. This kind of silence paralyzed her to the fingernail. Till the end, the silence was never broken. Fiona closed the curtains, turned on her heels, and left the room. 

Cordelia had no idea what was on Fiona’s mind, not that she ever did. With trembling hands, she picked up the new book. Now, she felt she owed it to her mother to give it a read, at least. But all the illustrations looked terrifying, and Cordelia decided it'd be best to read it with Misty.

There came light taps on the window, then. It's didn't sound like raindrops, but something more solid.

Misty was under there, holding a handful of pebbles. As they waved at each other, she put those pebbles at the foot of the lightning-struck tree and grasped a flower to show Cordelia. 

In the other hand, she had a paper plane. It flew down the hill, and Misty chased it with the brightest smile. Her skirt fluttered in the wind. Her fingers tight on the base of the plane, she came back to Cordelia, and with another wave of her hand, flew the plane again. 

Watching it take to the air, Cordelia wished she were the paper plane. Free of care, free of loneliness, just free. And most importantly, safe in Misty’s hands.

After a while, Misty settled under the window and made a gesture, spreading her arms. It seemed like an imitation of a paper plane to Cordelia at first. But Misty's lips moved as she pointed at Cordelia, and it dawned on her that the girl wanted the window open.

They still didn’t speak, though, even without the barrier between them. Someone could be around the corner.

Misty put the flower in the paper plane. She flew it towards the window, but it crashed somewhere far after drawing a huge arc mid-air, flinging the flower off. She made another attempt, but failed again. The flower didn’t want to stick to the plane. Realizing this, Misty gave up on the additional gift. 

Despite the compromise, all the following attempts still ended in failure. Either the wind carried it away or she hurled it too hard it plunged to the ground. Cordelia could see the beginning of tantrum in her body language. 

In the end, however, Misty seemed to have heard something and ran back. 

Left alone, Cordelia stayed by the window a little longer, smiling at the flower under the tree.


	6. Chapter 6

Misty ran her finger across the window of the hallway. All of the windows were covered with multiple layers of dust. When she blew out, the top layer visibly wafted. But no more layers gave in the same way. Only the first layer was vulnerable enough, and Misty always found this phenomenon entertaining to watch.

She wrote her own name on the remaining dust, humming an improvised song about Cordelia.

"Misty, darling." Moira appeared in her peripheral vision.

With a slight start, she hastened to wipe the evidence of her negligence off the window.

“Mrs. Goode is going to the town," Moira said, "and she wants you to accompany her. Come quick-- Leave those things there. You can’t have Mrs. Goode waiting a second for you.”

The abashment of getting caught slacking didn’t allow Misty to shake her head. She put her dirty cloth over the rim of the bucket, throwing a quick glance at the clean part of the window. As she took the first step, Moira pushed her forward with a hand on Misty’s back like a nagging tailwind.

“Why does she need me?” Misty said.

“You’ll find out soon.”

Out in the driveway, Spalding was standing in front of the automobile. His long lips twisted at the sight of Misty. In return, Misty walked up to him without averting her gaze, which wonderfully did the trick of daunting the man.

Moira told him the same thing she'd told Misty, still providing no detail.

He narrowed his eyes at Misty, but gestured to the backseats of the automobile anyway. As if it was Misty’s wish to be there with him.

The entrance door opened, and the owner of the manor walked out.

“Have that thing sit next to you, Spalding,” Fiona said, walking past Misty.

Spalding shoved the girl aside in order to open the door for Fiona.

Although it was of little importance to Misty where to sit, taking any orders from the lady was the last thing she wanted.

Moira gave her a push. “Don’t be slow. Get in, now.”

So, she reluctantly sat in the passenger’s seat and had to share the same air with the two of the most despicable people on the planet. Spalding sat next to her. The stick between them soon breathed life into the automobile. The loud noise made Misty anxious, but she managed to play it cool.

It was her first time to leave the property since the pendant incident.

She wanted to ask Fiona why she needed her company. Yet, from her few encounters and a bunch of Cordelia’s stories, she guessed the question would be answered with a yell or a glare. Better keep her mouth shut.

Some possibilities popped up in her mind. Perhaps, they had learned of the secret between her and Cordelia and sought to get rid of her. They were going to sell her to a nastier master or in the orphanage in the town. She could never see Cordelia again.

The more optimistic scenario was that they finally understood how important her brother was to her. They were on their way to the blacksmith together, because only Misty knew his face.

The latter one sounded better, so she decided to stick to it.

She wondered how Kyle would react when he saw her get out of the shiny automobile and when she told him he could live with them in the manor. Nobody would try to separate them again. Misty would even share her food with him if necessary. Their lives would return to normal, and the family would now have Cordelia in it. And the three of the best friends would make the manor their kingdom.

By the time they drove across the town, Misty was convinced beyond doubt that it was what awaited her.

The automobile came to a halt. She jumped out, not bothering to close the door. But to her confusion, there were no shop around them that looked like a blacksmith’s. The area was only full of fancy clothing shops. Fiona walked into one of them, and Spalding shoved her from behind to make her follow suit.

On the inside, there were dresses and suits and rolls of fabrics piled up on the tables. All the colors jumped out at her at once, flooding her system.

When she regained composure, Misty walked up to a mannequin in a pretty dress. Nobody had ever allowed her to look at such a luxurious piece of clothing from up close. The town people always yelled at her if she did, as if her gaze alone could taint their garments. Misty wanted to feel the frills on the sleeves.

But Spalding swatted her hand before she could touch them. He grabbed her by the back of her collar as usual, then, and dragged her to a man in a suit. Unlike Spalding, however, the man had the appearance of a regular human. Rectangular rather than long.

The rectangular man threw an indifferent glance at Misty. “And this is--?” he said to Fiona.

“My servant, but she's about the same size as my friend's daughter.”

“Like I just said, Mrs. Goode, my wife was taken ill recently, and we cannot get work done as quickly.”

“It’s fine by me,” Fiona said. “Take as much time as needed.”

“Yes, but it has to be done by the birthday of your friend's daughter, of course?”

“Oh-- Yes, you are correct.” Her phony laughter filled the shop.

“And, when would that be?”

With a smile, Fiona took a pause to fix her hat. “It doesn't really matter, Mr. Hache. If it's not done by her birthday, I can always find another reason to give her the gift.”

Then, they went around the shop and began discussing something, examining the finished dresses and various fabrics.

Misty still had no idea why she was there. But she behaved herself, hoping they’d take her to the blacksmith afterwards. Maybe it was a two-birds-one-stone thing. Her turn to shine had yet to come.

So, in imitation of the adults--Spalding not included--she explored the place.

There was a young seamstress in the corner of the room. It was poorly-lit even during the day. Not a good working environment by any standard. Misty wondered if the seamstress didn’t know for some reason about the large window near the entrance.

The seamstress showed no sign of acknowledging Misty’s presence. Her unblinking eyes were trained on the dress in a machine that made horrid sounds. With her hands on the table and on tiptoe, Misty leaned forward for a better look at the machine. But the seamstress shooed her away like a dog. It made no sense. It wasn’t like Misty was going to chew the dress apart or pee on it.

She left the corner nonetheless and walked around more.  She stopped behind a mannequin in a suit. It had shoes on as well unlike the other mannequins. So, Misty placed her own foot side by side to compare their shoe sizes, only to flinch when the mannequin jumped away. It was Spalding. With a hand on his chest, he gaped at her.

Little did he know Misty’s heart was racing, too. It was one of the rare moments where she ended up frightening the man without the intention of doing so. But instead of apologizing, she hid her embarrassment behind her glower. He shouldn’t have been standing so still. That was his fault.

She moved over to stand by the large window to calm her nerves, looking over the street. There was not a single familiar face in the passing by people.

Then, Fiona’s black figure appeared among the crowd, with Spalding on her tail. Misty watched and wondered what rich-people nonsense they were up to this time. They got in the automobile. And with her cheek and hands pressed against the glass, she watched it drive away.

It was when it finally struck her.

“Wait! You're forgetting me!” Misty tried to run after them.

The rectangular man caught her by the arm, however. “He'll be back. Don't excite yourself so.”

“But, what if he never does? I don't want to be your servant.”

“And why do you think I’d take you in? You look like you eat a whole cow in one meal. Come here.” He pulled her towards a three-way mirror. “Stand here. Stand still.”

Pulling out a snake-like ruler, he began to take measurements and put pieces of cloth on her. The hissing noise that the ruler made when it brushed against her clothes echoed, while the sewing machine still roared. Not once did the man meet her gaze in the mirror.

Despite her skepticism towards this whole situation, Misty couldn’t help the feeling of smugness bubbling inside her. She'd seen the gentlemen with a snobby mustache and a little tilt of the head, turning this way and that to admire themselves from many angles in the tailor's shops. In the same manner, she now watched her dirty dress coated with pieces of colorful fabrics. Who would've thought it could happen to a child like Misty?

Not quite the same, though, without the liberty to turn this way and that. The tailor’s instruction was clear. To stay still. Misty didn’t know if that included her eyes, because that seemed like an impossible order to follow. But maybe, he would let her twirl afterwards in the finished garment if she gave him no trouble.

So, with all the fragments of patience in her system, she did her best imitation of a mannequin like Spalding. Not a yawn or a sneeze. Even when a needle pricked her or when her right bottom cheek began to itch, she remained stationary. Everything good needed sacrifice.

As it turned out, though, it didn't go farther than taking measurements, and Misty didn't get to wear a complete dress or suit. Not that she wanted to wear a dress, necessarily. Her work dress still sometimes irritated her. But there was a huge difference between a reach-me-down and a tailored garment that no-one else had worn yet. Nothing was going as she wanted.

Disappointment was her oldest friend, anyway.

“What kind of dress are you going to make?” Misty said, watching Mr. Hache in the mirrors.

He jotted down something in his notes. “A light purple dress.”

“Is it going to have any laces?”

“Of course-- You can move now."

Her body felt like a rock. “I think all the dresses should have laces and frills. They're pretty that way.”

He put the pen down. And he grabbed a roll of white lace ribbon off the table, snipped a piece off, and came to her at the mirrors. “Now, stand still.” He pulled her hair a bit. “You were a rather good girl today. I wish my daughters could learn a lesson or two from you. There-- What do you think?”

Misty twisted her neck left and right, looking in the front mirror. “I can’t see. What did you do?”

“You’re a bit thick, aren’t you? It’s fine.” His hands on either side of her head, he gently made her see the mirror on the side.

In the coupled mirror, Misty caught the sight of the white ribbon tied into the most beautiful bow she'd ever seen in the back of her head. “You give me this?”

“Every child deserves a reward when they did something good, and I doubt Mrs. Goode is going to give you one.”

With waves of joy flooding her inside, it was impossible to stay still any more. She shook her head, making the tails of the bow flutter.

The shop door opened. Spalding walked back in alone.

After greeting him, Mr. Hache turned to Misty and gave her one firm pad on the shoulder. “Now, don't tell Mrs. Goode what I just said, alright?”

But Misty was too busy admiring herself in the mirror. “Tell her what?”

A gentler pad on the shoulder. “Never mind. Go on, then. Don't let other kids take it from you.”

"Can I stay here a little longer, please?"

As her words left, the long figure of Spalding appeared behind her in the mirror, and her joy was annihilated in an instant. She would have resisted, fought for this ephemeral sparkle in her life if it had been just this man-- But in the tailor's shop, Misty thought it'd be shameful to throw a fit in front of Mr. Hache. He said she was a good girl. She hated for him to change the opinion.

With one last look in the mirror, Misty waved Mr. Hache goodbye and followed the old dog out of the shop.  

The bow's tails flapped in the wind. This must be how it felt to wear a crown, she thought.

Back at the automobile, she tried to see the ribbon again in the window glass, but in vain. If only she had another pair of eyes in the back of her head. Then, she backtracked. If she had eyes there plus the bow, wouldn’t it be like wearing a bow on her nose? That’d make her look silly.

The sound of Spalding’s clearing his throat made her turn her head, and he gestured for her to get in.

She opened the door to the passenger’s seat. However, something in her didn’t allow her to fulfill the order.

”Hey, Spalding, we’re going to the blacksmith's shop, yeah?”

He grimaced from behind the wheel, which made Misty glad to have asked.

“My brother works there. Kyle. Can I say hi to him?”

Looking away, he shook his head.

“Just a quick hello, please?” Misty said. “I don't seen him for months.”

Still, no nod. He made the same gesture again with evident impatience. Misty found it extra annoying when he got aggressive like this. More than any verbal words anyone had spat at her, it made her feel demeaned.

“Alright, fine. I'm going to find him on my own, then.” As soon as she said it, she ran away from the automobile.

She kept running, dodging other pedestrians. Only after hiding in an alley around the corner did she stop to take a breath. She put her head slightly out of the shadow and scanned the street. The figure of Spalding stood out like a baguette in a basket full of rolls. But making no apparent effort to find her, he shambled back to the automobile.

...

With the old man out of the picture, there was only one problem left. She didn't know where the blacksmith’s shop was.

She asked around, acting politely and saying ‘please’, but the town people only ignored her or shooed her away. It didn't hurt her. It was just inconvenient that nobody offered to help. After while, an old lady in a shiny horse-drawn carriage took picky and gave her the directions to the place at last. The shop was not that far, located outside the dense area of the town that Misty had never been before. It proved easy to find it, though, with the loud hammering noise echoing in the street. As soon as she spotted the warehouse-like shop, she dashed toward there.

The door was wide open. She went to look inside. At the same time, a fat man came out, and his belly slammed into her face, sending her into the air.

“Ugh, watch out, little girl!” the man said. “What’s the problem? Got no eyes?”

Misty stood up. “Screw you. I was watching my way alright. You wasn’t.”

“How rude!”

Out of the shop, a masculine woman appeared. “What’s the matter, sir?”

“Oh, Mrs. Renard, this is ludicrous. Absolutely so. I was just walking, and this rat ran into me!” His voice grew more and more shrill with each word spoken. “How glad I am that this wasn’t before I came in. Imagine all of my master’s collection scattered on the ground!”

“Yes, that’ve been a disaster.” The woman looked at Misty. “Oi, what are you still doing there standing like that? Apologize to the gentleman and clear off.”

As Misty opened her mouth to protest, the fat man let out another distressed screech.

“My watch! It’s gone!” He stuck his hands in every pocket on him. His finger point at Misty, then. “A thief! Give me back my watch.”

“I stole nothing, you flapdoodle.”

The woman grabbed her arm. “You little rat, doing business in front of my shop?”

“I did not! I’m just looking for my brother. Don’t know nothing about his stupid watch!”

“Look at the ribbon in her hair!” the man said. “It’s too fancy. She must have stolen that one, too!”

“Screw you! I was given this!” Misty said.

By then, people began to crowd around for the spectacle.

“Of course, the girl is lying. I saw her steal his thing with my own eyes,” one of them said.

“Me, too.”

“Did she say she was looking for her brother? I think I’ve seen both of them before. They were stealing apples from my friend’s shop.”

The woman’s grip on Misty tightened. “Come on, where is that thing you stole?”

Her arm felt like it could snap at any moment. “Let me go! It’s not me, I swear it!”

But they only sneered.

In that moment, Spalding showed up in his usual elusive manner, looking down at Misty.

With the heavy sense of guilt, she looked down. She'd run away from him, only to get caught in such a mess. And now, he was her only hope to get out of it.

“I really didn’t, Spalding. I promise.”

“Who the hell are you?” the woman said.

Both of their remarks went unanswered. Instead, he turned to the fat man, took a coin out, and offered it to him. The man looked confused at first. But after examining the coin, his expression turned sedate.

"Is she your servant, my good sir?" the man asked.

Spalding didn't answer.

"Well, I'd have her learn discipline and respect from scratch if I were you––"

“Excuse me, sir.” Another voice came from behind Misty. A boy a little older than herself walked up to the man. “Is this the watch you talk of?” In his hand was a shiny watch.

The man took it in his hands. “Oh… Yes, it is, indeed.”

“It was on the ground by the carriage wheels," the boy said. "You must have dropped it when you bumped into her.”

At that, the spectators redirected their heckling to the fat man.

His face turned red. He then looked at Misty. “Well, be more careful in the future. This has been a ludicrously huge waste of time for everybody.”

He hastened to leave the site, but Spalding stopped him with a hand on his meaty shoulder, holding out the other hand open-palm. His initial reaction was confusion, then reluctance followed. Nonetheless, he took the coin out of his pocket and handed it over. It was then he was finally let go. 

Watching him shouldering his way through the already dispersing crowd, Misty felt bubbling desire to kick his bottom.

Her eyes met with the boy’s. They smiled at each other.

The bulky woman came treading and smacked him in the back of the head. “You stupid moron, why did you have to embarrass that gentleman like that in front of people?”

“But, I didn’t mean to.”

“You should’ve waited until there were no people around.” Grumbling, the woman stomped back inside without paying any more attention to Misty.

“She’s wrong," Misty said him. "What you did was very right. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

His sincere smile reminded her of her brother.

…

A few nights later, Misty told Cordelia everything about the adventure in the town. From the grumpy seamstress to how tepid the fat man’s belly felt against her face, she left no detail to Cordelia’s imagination. But above all, she made absolute sure to share the story about the boy at the blacksmith. Hank was his name.

Sitting by her side on the bed, Cordelia listened in silence till the end. “I’m so glad this boy was there. He kept you safe.”

“Yeah. I hate it when adults don’t believe me when I tell the truth. It's because I’m poor.”

“Spalding should've had your back. Even if he can’t talk, there must be another way instead of paying the man.”

At this, Misty felt the guilt keep her mouth shut. Spalding was for certain not a good person, had treated her in despicable ways. But considering the incident alone, it made her think maybe it was his way of protecting her. It had solved the problem quite quickly, in fact.

“I don’t like how people treat you,” Cordelia said.

“It’s not that bad. And not all of them are mean, you know? Like the tailor-- Oh, I should have bringed the ribbon to show you. It’s in the drawer downstairs. Moira said I should keep it in there because I can easily get it dirty. She was right, because I accidentally got myself covered in soot the next day.”

“Doing what?”

“Cleaning the mantlepiece. But don’t worry, the ribbon is clean as snow.”

“I’d love to see it next week.”

Misty gave a nod and let out a sigh. “I wish I could see you everyday. Then, I can show it to you tomorrow.”

As they sat in silent darkness, Cordelia’s hand found its way into hers.

“So, did you get to see your brother?”

Now, it was a topic Misty didn’t like to think about. She just shook her head.

“Maybe, it was not the right blacksmith?” Cordelia said.

“There’s only one in the town.” Her own words stung. “Hank said there was a boy before him, but he ran away.”

“Was it Kyle?”

“Hank doesn’t know his name,” Misty said. “But it must be him. He’s good at running.”

“Oh…” Her head hanged down, Cordelia pulled her hand out of Misty's.

Her sadness seeped out and into the darkness, and Misty felt like crying a little.

So, she feigned a smile of bravery. “It’s okay. I think he doesn’t know where I live yet. He’ll come and get me as soon as he finds out. You’ll like him, and he knows many more things than me.”

The funny thing was that listening to her own words, she began to feel better.

Cordelia didn't respond, however.

“Don’t worry," Misty said. "He’s mean sometimes, but only to me. Then, he’s going to work here with me. Become the little Spalding.” The mental image of him in a baggy suit made her let out genuine giggles.

“Here? You won’t run away with him?" Cordelia's voice sounded fragile like the first time they talked.

“Of course, not. I’ll never leave you.” She took the initiative to hold Cordelia's hand this time. She lay down. “When we grow up, maybe we can live together outside this house. Three of us. In the town, maybe. What do you think?”

Cordelia slowly lay next to her. “I'd like that, Misty."


	7. Chapter 7

The concept of the future had always been a mystery for Cordelia. It had no color, shape, or sound. Just a mere extension of the aimless life floating around her day and night. Trying to contemplate was not of use. She always assumed her life, regardless of the length of it, would end in this bedroom one way or another.

And with a single promise, Misty put an end to it all.

Cordelia imagined herself grown up, living by Misty’s side like a pair of regular people. It might be still necessary to hide from the rest of the world, but she was not greedy. 

The truth was--Cordelia would never admit it to Misty--she couldn’t care less about her brother. No doubt it was a tragedy for the siblings to lose each other like that, and Cordelia hated to see her friend heartbroken. Still, the ideal would be to have Misty all to herself everyday, without sharing her affection with anybody else. Kyle was no exception. 

Everytime his name came out of Misty’s mouth with such warmth, Cordelia felt something squeeze her heart.  _ But he left you _ , the words would threaten to jump out. She couldn’t control her own feelings. They continued to grow stronger and more trenchant. And if the simple utterance of his name could hurt her so much, what would become of her when he really came back? 

So, with the unknown face of her foe on her mind, she laid a curse on him and hoped for the best.

…

Despite her vigorous promises, Misty kept forgetting to bring the white lace ribbon week after week. She would bring Cordelia other gifts, but the ribbon always seemed to slip her mind at the last minute. 

“I remembered it before I took a nap,” Misty would say.

It didn’t bother Cordelia. Those promises were sincere, she knew, unlike the ones made by the adults. She could wait, because it was the only thing she was good at. 

But something else arrived in her bedroom before the ribbon. It came in a large box, accompanied by Moira’s smile that could only be described as dubious.

“Come here, darling. Look what your mother bought you,” Moira said, setting it down on the edge of the bed.

Out of the box was a purple dress, the skirt and sleeves flowing and almost drowning in the frilly embellishment. 

Cordelia recognized it immediately. “This is…”

“Very beautiful, yes. Take that dirty dress off, and let's try this on. It should fit you just fine."

With an unusual amount of enthusiasm, Moira helped her change into the dress. 

It was the most gorgeous dress Cordelia had never worn. The way it hugged her body, the delicate sound it produced when she moved around, and the quintessential smell of the outside that clung to the fabric. In the dress, she felt like someone else. There was nothing to dislike. Misty would love it, too, telling her how pretty she looked. 

But then, she had no mirror to look at herself, to twirl the same way the gentlemen in the town did as Misty had told her. Who was she kidding? Whether in a fancy dress or not, she would always be Cordelia.

“This color looks wonderful on you,” Moira said. “Let me see your smile, darling.”

Cordelia followed the order.

Moira’s own smile fell. “Now, you have to practice your smile so it would look more genuine when your mother comes, do you understand?” She put the old dress in the wardrobe and, without another word, left the room. 

Cordelia threw the purple dress off as soon as the door closed. Glaring down at the dress, she stood in the middle of her room in her undergarments.  

Everything about this was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Fiona was going to notice what kind of expression she wore. Unless Cordelia wasn’t bawling her eyes out to annoy her, nothing she did or said was worthy of her mother’s attention. 

_Practice your smile._ Without a mirror?

In her opinion, it was Fiona who needed to practice, not her smile, but her skills to look more interested in her daughter, her facade of love. It was too late. But if she’d made the minimum effort when Cordelia was younger, at least, Cordelia could’ve deceived herself with the synthetic notion of maternal love then. 

Now, Misty had come and taught her the taste of true love. Her mother’s attention no longer mattered. 

She would wear the dress when Fiona bothered to visit her, she decided. She would feign the deepest gratitude for the gift, put it away, and banish it from her mind for good.

Fiona didn’t come this day, however. Either she was somewhere else or didn’t feel like seeing Cordelia, it was hard to tell. If the first one was the case, though, Cordelia hoped she would have forgotten about the dress by the time she returned and Moira would keep it that way. 

Having said that, the villain in this scenario was not the dress, but her mother, and Cordelia had second thought the following day-- Misty deserved to see this dress on her. 

Around noon, she put the dress on without anyone’s help and sat on the windowsill. As she had a book on her lap, the billowing skirt kept blocking the pages. The purple color looked more vibrant in the sunlight, and it was a pleasant discovery that the hem of the skirt was one tone darker than the rest. 

In another life, she could’ve easily fallen in love with it.

A few pebbles hit the window. Cordelia looked out. To her confusion, there was no sign of Misty anywhere. Opening the window and sticking her head out slightly, she looked around. Nothing seemed to be under the window that could've tapped on the window in succession. Cordelia wondered if her heart craved her friend so badly that her ears had played a cruel trick on her. 

In that moment, Misty showed herself from behind the lightning-struck tree. Her grin greeted Cordelia for a moment before hiding behind the tree again. Cordelia watched her appear and hide over and over again, skipping around the tree in between. Something long and white in her hand flapped in the wind as she ran. Although Cordelia wanted to have a good look at it, the peek-a-boo continued. Misty hid again, and only with her arms poking out, she waved at Cordelia. 

Every second of it, Cordelia felt the definition of happiness revised and refined.

After a while, it came to an end as Misty seemed tired but satisfied. She came to the window with a radiating grin and finally brandished the white thing in her hand for Cordelia to see. The white ribbon. Misty remembered it this time. 

Cordelia returned the smile. And in exchange, she opened the curtains a little wider and ran her hand over her dress. It earned an electrifying gasp from Misty. 

“Is that a new dress?” Misty said, covering her mouth with her hands right away. 

But the hill remained as quiet as ever. Both of them heaved a sigh of relief in unison. 

Offering a bashful smile, Misty looked up with the earlier question in her gaze. Cordelia nodded, and it made Misty jump around as high-pitched giggles leapt out of her tiny body. Her unreserved way of expressing joy was by no means new to Cordelia. Still, it left her giddy, made her proud of herself for being the reason for the joy. 

The feeling lingered long after Misty had dropped a mischievous curtsy and left. The sound of her laughter echoed close to her. She felt as if she was down on the hill, running, hand in hand with Misty.

…

As the night approached on the weekly visiting day, Cordelia put the purple dress on after finishing dinner. There was still some time left until Misty could come upstairs, but Cordelia couldn’t wait. By wearing the dress, she wished she could quicken the flow of time. 

Shortly after, however, there came thudding footsteps across the hallway. Cordelia was immersed in a book in the moment. When the sound finally popped her bubble of concentration, it was too late to embrace herself for the incoming storm. 

The door burst open. 

From the first step in, Fiona made it clear that there was no hope for an escape of any kind. The redness of her face and eyes was evident even in the poor light of the oil lamp as she stomped to the bookshelves in a straight line. She looked through them, picking up some. One by one, Cordelia’s books fell to the floor and made a pile at her mother’s feet. Each thud sounded like a countdown to her impending doom. 

Then, Fiona turned around. “Where’s the book I gave you recently? Where is it?”

Overwhelmed, Cordelia could only stare at the books on the floor. 

“Did you lose your voice? Answer my question.” Fiona came closer. “Let me see what you’re reading.”

Without waiting for a response, she snatched the book from Cordelia’s hand. It  _ was  _ the book. Fiona studied the front cover, looked at the affectionate message from Richard behind it, and let out a dry puff of air. And she tore it apart, page after page, sometimes in small pieces, other times as almost whole pages. Cordelia had never heard a sound so cruel, seen a sight so tragic. 

In a matter of seconds, almost half of the book had fallen to the floor like autumn leaves. Still, Fiona’s anger continued simmering. She brought the book to the fireplace, possibly to burn the whole thing, but uttered more profanities upon finding no fire there. 

She threw it in the ash anyway. “That son of a bitch,” she said, walking around. “Who does he think he is? All men are the same. All men. Same. Same!”

Cordelia felt like she was witnessing something she shouldn’t, like those sensual illustrations in the books Fiona had given her without care. So, dropping her gaze to the carcass of the book, she pretended not to hear anything. It produced the opposite effect, though, as Fiona’s tramp stopped. 

“What are you looking at?” Fiona said. “Was the book so important to you, hmm? Stop looking at me! You-- A disgrace, ruining my life.” She began pacing around again.

Cordelia busied herself trying not to cry. It was a waste of time to figure out what she had done wrong this time. 

“Why are the curtains open?”

Cordelia looked up and saw her mother marching to the window, where the curtains were open. Only slightly, no wider than Cordelia’s fist. But it didn’t help the situation, because she knew exactly why. There was only one reason these days for her to touch the curtains. 

“I said, why are the curtains open?” Fiona said.

In a panic-filled state, Cordelia managed a feeble lie. “I wanted some sunlight--”

“Oh, you wanted sunlight, did you? Why don't you open them fully, then? Go ahead, do it.”

“I'm so sorry, mother--”

“Do it! Let them see you and kill you if that’s what you want!”

Cordelia could no longer hold back her tears, but still tried her hardest not to make any noises. She couldn’t breathe. It felt like an eternity before Fiona closed the curtains shut and finally walked out. Only then, Cordelia allowed herself to break down. 

Knees hitting the floor, she gathered the torn pages with trembling hands. Fat tears dropped on the paper, smudging the ink. She had dog-eared and underlined on pages for Misty. All was ruined. Those pages lay lifeless before her, mixed with the ones she had yet to read. 

She should’ve cared for the book more. Even if it had been destined for such a brutal end, even for the short period of time it had sat in her bookshelf, she should’ve loved it the way it deserved. Over and over again, she apologized to the scattered pages.

A new onset of tears rose from deep in her chest. She buried her face in the pillow and cried herself to sleep.  

...

She woke up at a feeling of something on her shoulder. A soft voice called out to her through the thick haze she always found herself in after crying herself to sleep. She sat up, but there was nobody else in the bed. 

Then, the room became bright, a shadow cast on the wall. She took in her surroundings as Misty came back from the desk and sat by her side. 

“You weren’t answering,” Misty said. “I thought you turned into a deer again. Then, I saw you in the bed, just like a princess."

Though with her nose and mind clogged, Cordelia offered a smile. She wiped residual tears away, while Misty brought her face close to the dress and fiddled with the frills on the sleeves. 

"It’s light purple, right?” Misty said.

Cordelia nodded. “This is the dress made using your measurements. You are bigger than me when I was your age.”

“But Fiona said the dress was for her friend's daughter."

"Nobody knows she has a daughter, I think." The words came out without any conscious effort.

It had never crossed her mind to wonder what kind of tactics Fiona employed in order to buy books for Cordelia in the town. This must be how. Pretending to be a generous--and  _ very _ childless--woman who liked to send gifts to children that were not her own. 

None of it surprised Cordelia. Like Fiona had said, she was a curse, a disgrace that deserved to be hidden away forever.

“She was real mean to me this evening,” Misty said. “Saw me in the driveway and yelled at me. I was just looking for something for you. I don't want to be an adult like that when I grow up.” Looking down, her frown turned into a full smile. “Hey, look what I have!”

The white ribbon hanged down from her grip. She placed it in Cordelia’s palm and made her feel the lace pattern with her finger. 

“This is very beautiful,” Cordelia said.

“The tailor tied a bow in my hair. Let me do it for you.” As she grabbed the ribbon, Misty moved to sit behind Cordelia. Her tender hands took strands of her hair.

To have someone touch her head like this, it was a whole new sensation for Cordelia. Moira’s hands were coarse to her fingertip, literally, while those of Misty felt the opposite. But the most startling was the way she ran her fingers through her hair. Not for the sake of washing or combing it, Misty touched it for the sake of touching. Cordelia didn’t know if there was any more intimate action in the world than this. 

As some time passed in silence, however, those hands grew a bit clumsy, pulling a hair here and there. With almost inaudible whines, Misty puffed out her breath in the back of Cordelia’s neck.

“Are you okay?”

After a pause, Misty dropped her hands. “Do you know how to tie a bow, Miss Cordelia?”

“Oh-- Yes. Do you want me to teach you?”

“Yes, please.” Moving back to sit next to her, Misty handed the ribbon over. “Kyle taught me once, but it was difficult. And I didn’t want to ask him again because he makes fun of me.”

Even then, Misty still had made effort before asking for help. Cordelia found it precious beyond words.

“We need a book.” Cordelia slid off the bed.

“Why?”

“Because that’s how--” But she froze on the spot as she saw the pages left scattered over the floor. She hastened to collect them.

Misty stood over her. “What happened to the paper?”

A sense of shame washed over her. “The binding was loose. It happens to old book sometimes.”

A lie, of course. It shocked even herself that she was capable of lying to Misty. Her shame took on a deeper color. Yet, part of her still wished that this falsehood would hang tough, that Misty wouldn't catch the rest of the book in the dead fireplace. 

“It was a book?" Misty said. "I didn't know books could die. They are like humans, then?”

Cordelia gave a nod. Though, in this case, calling it a murder would be more appropriate.

“Are you going to give it a grave?”

Such an idea had never occurred to Cordelia. But now, it sounded like the most natural path to take. 

“I will,” Cordelia said. She then invited Misty to sit at the desk and tied the white ribbon around a book in front of her. “This is how Adea taught me. Over, under, around, and through. Say hello to Mr. Butterfly.” 

“Butterfly?”

“Because the bow looks like one. Now, watch closely, okay?” Undoing the bow, Cordelia demonstrated again with the rhyme. She repeated the steps several times before encouraging Misty to give it a try. 

Despite the seamless rhyme that came out of Misty’s mouth, her hands weren’t catching up. “Over, under, around, and-- Can it be Mr. Rabbit? It looks like their ears, too, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Also the elephant. What other animals have big ears?”

Cordelia couldn’t come up with anything. 

“Oh, I know! A deer!” Misty said. 

“A deer?”

“But not their ears. Their horns. Let's do this with Mr. Deer-- No. Miss Deer!” Hence, Misty moved her clumsy hands as she hummed the slightly-altered rhyme. 

And after multiple attempts and with the aid from Cordelia, she succeeded in tying a bow for the first time.

“Little Miss Deer. Little Miss Deer.” Misty sang. “Now your hair, Miss Cordelia. You're going to look so pretty.” She jumped out of her seat, made Cordelia sit down, and stood behind the chair. 

But her manoeuver still felt awkward. Even though it was happening at the back of her head, Cordelia could tell it was a premature attempt. Her hands hadn’t memorized the movement yet. 

“Why don't you try it on my wrist?” Cordelia said. “I can see and help you.”

Misty started puffing out again. “But I want to do it like the tailor did for me.”

“Okay.”

In the end, Misty conceded to her suggestion. They practiced more with the book, Cordelia’s wrist, and the bed column as her skills progressed. When they managed to reach the initial goal, the moon was lowering in the window frame. 

Cordelia reached up behind her own head to touch the bow. 

“No, don't touch. It may come off.” Misty's hand came to rest on hers. She helped her on her feet. “Give me a twirl?”

Cordelia obliged, and it earned an ecstatic squeal from her friend. 

“I knew it. I told you, you'd look like a princess.” Misty gave a little dance of glee. “Oh, how I wish I could show you to everyone in the world. Then, they will see how wrong it is to have you hidden like this.”

Never having received affection this blatant, Cordelia didn’t know how to respond.

Misty took both of her hands. “I have a crazy idea. What if we sneak out a little?”

“What?”

“You have such a pretty dress on. It's going to be a waste if you don't go outside, at least.” Misty opened the curtains and pointed skyward. “Look, I think the Moon wants to see you, too.”

Cordelia stood next to her and looked up. The bright Moon, through a thin cloak of clouds, cast an enchanting aura that she had never felt before. It called out to her. She looked at Misty. Her grin was worth the fear and risks, she decided. Not that she had the willpower to say no anyway. She gave a timid nod. 

Misty grinned even wider before leading her by the hand to the door. The other hand reached for the knob.

“Wait.” Cordelia stopped her. “I think we should go separately.”

“Why?”

“Because it's better to get caught alone than together.”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about that. You are so much smarter than me,” Misty said. “I go first, then, okay? Do you know how to go to the kitchen door? You go down the stairs and--”

“I know. I'm okay.”

So, Misty let go of her hand and slipped through the door first. 

As soon as Cordelia was left alone, the room temperature dropped. She went to turn off the oil lamp and, looking up at the moon again, felt the ribbon in her hair.  Her heart pounded at the base of her throat. On the count of twenty, and another ten to be certain, she peeked out through the crack of the door to the quiet hallway. She stepped out. 

The hem of the dress rustled against the carpet, so she lifted it. Still, the dress proved to be tricky to move around in without making a sound. She descended the stairs, lifting the skirt extra higher, tiptoed across the entrance hall, and sneaked out of the kitchen to the outside at last. 

The chilly breeze of the night hit her in the face, and Cordelia felt a hand grab her own. Next moment, she was running. 

She ran like falling, only pulled up by the hand of Misty. She ran like in a dream, where her body didn't quite belong to her. But it was real, and it took all the air out of her lungs within seconds. She wanted to ask Misty to stop, but the words died before they could come out. 

To her great relief, the race ended shortly after at the back of the manor. As Misty let go of her hand, Cordelia leaned against the tree, trying to pant and cough the iron taste in her mouth away. She couldn't move her legs anymore. Her entire body felt like one giant drumming heart. 

“Are you okay?” Misty looked into her face.

Cordelia nodded. “It's just that-- I've never-- never run before.”

“Oh-- I'm sorry. I got too excited.”

As painful as it was to breathe, Cordelia couldn't help her smile. “It felt good. I'm okay now.” 

The Moon looked bigger than ever.

“This is where I first saw you,” Misty said as she touched the lightning–struck tree. “Here, I wrote our names with a stone.”

The part of the tree trunk Misty pointed at was hidden in the shadow. But running her finger across the bark, Cordelia felt something carved below there their eye level. 

“And that's your window.” Misty pointed upward. “When I stand here, I imagine we're in that story you read me before. You're the girl up on the balcony, and I'm the boy that comes to see her every night. And there's the Moon, right?”

Cordelia let out giggles. 

“Is it funny?” Misty said. 

“I can't imagine you wearing men's clothes.”

Misty looked down at her own nightgown. “I used to wear Kyle's clothes. But now, this and the dress are the only garments I have. I hate the dress."

“You like men's clothes better?”

“Pants are better than a skirt. I can run, and I can rescue you like a prince.”

“You could rescue me if you wore pants?” 

“Why not?” Misty shrugged with a smile. "I could climb this tree and jump to your window like a spider, you know?"

Although there was a significant distance between the tree and the window, Cordelia believed her. Nothing was impossible in the hands of Misty. Not even rescuing Cordelia.

But what she didn't know was that it had already been done. In her dirty work dress she hated, Misty had rescued her from her desolate life and continued to be her salvation every second of their time together. 

As they took a walk on the hill, Cordelia watched her moonlit hair sway in the wind. 

No sword or horse, but Misty still looked like the prince Cordelia had been waiting for. Much better than any of the ink-and-paper characters from her books. There was warm blood running through her veins. The bright cheeks, the eyes that had the Moon swimming in them, and the hand that held Cordelia’s so tightly like Cordelia was her entire world, as Misty was hers.

  
~~END OF SECTION 1~~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Section 2

Misty stared at her own reflection in the three-way mirror of the tailor’s shop and fought the urge to fidget. The side of her neck itched where the tip of her hair tickled the skin. She stayed still. In silence, Mr. Hache, the tailor, moved around and pinned the suit jacket for her. His concentration was the second most valuable asset in the shop after their horrendous sewing machine.

It was only when Mr. Hache took a step back from her did Misty raise her hand to give herself a satisfactory scratch. 

“How’s that?” he said, fixing his spectacles. 

Careful not to send the pins flying, Misty rotated her shoulders. “Feels fine.”

With a nod, he helped her out of the jacket. “You’re growing everyday, aren’t you? I can’t even use the measurement I took last time. How old are you now?”

“Seventeen.” Misty put on her own suit jacket. 

“And you’re still growing? Seventeen, huh?" He laughed. "I’m getting old. You know, I remember the first day you came here. You were almost half the size now.”

“You say that every time, Uncle Hache.” 

Turning around, she looked in the mirror and pulled at the collar lapels of the jacket in a smug gesture. Her jacket felt a little tight around the shoulders, and  the trousers showed her ankles, too. 

“Time flies. That's the truth," Mr. Hache said. "You’ll understand when you are older. In an eye's blink, I’m an old man."

"You are not that old."

He let out a dry laugh. "Then, I will be tomorrow. The thing is, I’ve been trying to find my successor for some time now." 

“What about your daughters? They already got the skills.”

“Both of them are only interested in finding a husband. It’s not a bad thing in itself, but a little more of ambition can’t be in the way of it, don't you agree?”

Misty shrugged. "You can't force someone to have ambition."

"A hard fact, isn't it?" He offered a resigned smile before disappearing into the back room. As he returned, he put a flat box on the table.

“Is it the dress?” Misty said.

Mr. Hache gave a nod. “Sorry it took longer than normal. Our sewing machine had been acting up lately.”

“All is fine.” Fishing coins out of her pocket, Misty made payment. “I wish I could be your successor, uncle.”

“Some day, perhaps. Everything will turn out the way the Higher Being wants it to be.”

So, Misty gave him a kiss on the cheek, put her bowler hat on, and walked out of the shop with the box. The automobile was parked right outside. She put the box in the trunk and started the engine. 

When the manor had some errands to run in the town these days, the duty fell into Misty's hands. She was quicker on her feet and had more stamina compared to Spalding. And since Fiona often vacated the house, which inevitably required the old servant's company, Misty didn't have another option. Not that she was complaining, though. Those little gateways gave her temporary freedom from the stifling air of the manor, and Misty loved feeling the wind on her face as she drove the automobile. 

With that being said, it had been a challenge to learn how to maneuver the vehicle from Spalding. In general, his lack of verbal words no longer caused severe difficulties in communicating to her, but it was a different thing when the gestures were meant to convey explanations instead of orders. So, most of the learning she'd done watching him drive. Only recently, after an accident that nearly proved fatal to the vehicle, she'd started to get the hang of it. 

Now, driving through the busy street gave her no anxiety. 

She entered an alley and parked the vehicle in front of the blacksmith's shop. There were children flying a kite one block away, letting out jovial screams. She thought she should get Cordelia one of those things. 

The sound of a hammer hitting iron came out of the shop. The bell tolled across the town at the same time. It was lunch time.

Inside, Hank was forging an orange glowing knife near the fireplace. It was dark and stuffy. The whole place smelled like the Big Three S's––sweat, soot, and spit––packed together in vacuum and made to sit for half a century to ferment. In the midst of it sat Mrs. Renard, the muscular woman who owned the shop. 

Misty greeted her, but received no more than a glance. Business as usual. Taking her jacket off, she approached Hank's work station. 

“Hey,” he said. He wiped his face with a cloth and hammered down on the knife. 

Beads of sweat broke out again soon, trickling his temples, clinging to his growing beard. 

"Have you had lunch yet?" she said over the hammering sound. 

"Oh, so soon? Hung on, I have to finish with this one."

"I'll get ready, then." She took two potatoes out of a sack she'd taken from the manor’s kitchen and pushed a clean fire poker into them. She held them over the fire. 

"Didn't you have something to show her?" The low voice of Mrs. Renard travelled across the place. 

Hank stopped his hands for a moment. "Oh, right. Misty, you know Latin, right?"

"Only a little.” 

"We have an old chest. The owner wants the Latin engraving to be restored, but they’re so badly damaged that we can’t even guess what the letters are.”

“Doesn’t the owner know?”

Hank shrugged, coming to stand next to her to reheat the knife.

“I can’t say anything without looking at it,” Misty said. 

“Yeah, it’s--” He bit his tongue as he returned to the working table. The hammer hit the hot metal. 

By the time the forging finished, the potatoes had been cooked well. White steam came out of the hole made by the fire poker, and Misty thought it was one of the most marvelous sights in the world. Next, she prepared to roast the hazelnuts she’d bought from a street vender earlier.

Hank came to her and scored the potatoes with the knife. “Looks good.” He looked around, then. ”Where is the chest, Mrs. Renard?”

Without looking up, Mrs. Renard jerked her chin to the table on the opposite side of the fireplace. When a client brought an item in, this table was where the item spent most of the time, waiting for its turn to be fixed. Misty looked through the knives, scissors, door hinges and the like. The chest was sitting under the table. She and Hank pulled it out and carried it in the sun.

Around the dark wooden chest, just where the bottom part and the lid met, was a thin strip of dark metal. Like Hank had said, the letters engraved in it weren’t in their best condition. The chest must’ve been sitting in a dreadful environment for a long time, because the metal was covered in rust in every nook and corner. Some of the letters had eroded away.

“Can you help us?” Hank said. “The owner is going to pay us generously if we can restore it.”

After some moments of examination, Misty went to her jacket on the coat rack and pulled a pen and paper out of the breast pocket. She jotted down and gave the note to Hank. 

“I think I got it right. Even if not, nobody can complain if they don’t know the correct answer.”

Hank narrowed his eyes at the note. “What does it say?”

“Let love and light guide you, or something along these lines.”

“Okay, but what do the letters say? Your handwriting is worse than mine. Did a donkey teach you how to write?”

With a low growl, Misty snatched the paper out of his grip. She rewrote the letters under the original line, mirroring the neat and precise handwriting of Cordelia. “Here, happy?”

Satisfied he looked as he shoved it into his trouser pocket. “Oh, Misty. What a genius you are. I shall give you exactly two pats on the head.”

She returned a sarcastic smile, brushing his hand off. 

“All joking aside, though,” Hank said. “We owe you a ton. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

The booming laugh of Mrs. Renard echoed. “We’d make you learn Latin, is what we’d do. It must be awful easy if a twelve-year-old goblin can learn.”

Misty had no idea how Mrs. Renard could hear their conversation from across the vast shop over the various noises from the outside. One time, she had cursed at the woman under her breath while Hank was hammering, and even that somehow reached her ears. The sole existence of the woman was a horror story.

“I may consider it after I can read and write beyond our clients' names,” Hank said to Mrs. Renard. He turned to Misty and whispered, “Seriously, I’m not made to sit and use my imagination.”

“That’s why you can’t find a wife,” Mrs. Renard said.

Now, Misty couldn’t turn a deaf ear to this one. ”You want to get married?” 

“No,” he said, “but everyone else thinks I should. I don’t know anything about marriage. Girls hate me.”

That made Misty laugh. “They don’t hate you. They’re scared because you always look grumpy.”

“What-- This is my face.”

"Yeah, and you have that weird beard."

"Why are you so opposed to my mutton chops?" he said. 

"They stifle me. Don't you know you have raven hair?"

“Maybe you two should get married,” Mrs. Renard said. “Would save the trouble.”

At that,  they made a harmonious noise of disgust. 

“Why would you say that?” Misty said. “He’s like my brother.”

Hank shook head. “Please, Mrs. Renard, you cannot just say whatever comes to your mind.”

Mrs. Renard mumbled something, but Misty didn't have a hellish hearing ability like her.

Hank took off his apron. “Let’s eat. I'm famished.”

With the baked potatoes and roasted hazelnuts on a tray, they sat on the bench outside the shop and ate. The gentle autumn breeze blowed, cooling her heated skin. Although the potato no longer had steam coming off, it was still hot enough that Misty had to roll a bite of it from one cheek to the other inside her mouth. She loved it. 

The place overlooked the street. The children playing with a kite were gone. Some young women passed by with their mothers, and Hank followed them with his eyes. 

“Stop glaring at them," Misty said.

“I’m not--” But he blew the rest of the sentence away with a sigh. “I’m never going to find a wife.”

“I’m sure there are some women crazy enough to marry you someday if you keep looking.”

Stuffing his mouth with a handful of hazelnuts, he said something. 

"You got nut skin in your nest, lad." Misty pointed her finger at her own cheek. When his attempt to brush it out of his mutton chop failed to achieve the goal, she took it upon herself to do it for him. 

“So, what about you?" he said. "Do you ever plan for the future?”

She shrugged. “You know I’m not interested in marriage.”

"Right. But what about your princess? Are you going to spend the rest of your life by her side?”

“Of course. Where else would I be?" she said. "But we are not going to stay in the manor forever. We promised to run away together some day. You are welcome to come with us.”

“I don’t think she’ll like me.”

“It’s because you two have never met yet. I’m telling you, come visit the manor. You could be best friends.”

“I know, I know.” Hank said, licking his fingers. "Someday. You have my word."

Despite that, Misty knew it was an empty promise, already thrown away in the graveyard of their past promises. He had no means or excuse to go outside the town. And who knew how Fiona would react if they found out Misty had used the automobile for the sake of her personal affairs. At least, it never hurt to keep piling up those promises.

They sat there after finishing the lunch until Mrs. Renard came out and cleared her throat at them, hands on her hips. Neither of them dared to ignore the cue. 

“Well, gotta get back to work. Thanks for the lunch,” Hank said. 

They gave each other a hug, and Misty watched him go back inside from the bench. Mrs. Renard, on the other hand, remained in the same spot in front of her. 

Misty thought a simple ‘good day to you’ would do the job, but it was Mrs. Renard. Nobody except her clients was worth moving her mouth muscles for, and the word subtlety didn't exist in her extensive vocabulary. 

Misty shoved the remaining hazelnuts in her mouth and stood up. “Good day," she mumbled before leaving the site. 

To conclude the errands, she made a brief stop at the bookstore and then drove home. 

...

Back in the manor’s kitchen, Misty put the box of the new dress and the book on the table. There was nobody else in the part of the manor. She sat down, taking advantage of this opportunity to stretch her legs, and fixed the ribbon around the box. 

It had been a while since the last time Cordelia received a dress for herself. 

Sometime after the night they snuck out together, Fiona sent Misty to the tailor’s shop again. But the box that arrived a couple of weeks later, unlike the first time, contained a navy sailor suit with white decoration stripes and a pair of matching shorts. The fabrics felt like Cordelia’s hair. 

“These are for you,” Cordelia said.

Since then, Cordelia would order men’s clothes for her through Fiona. More sailor suits, vests, jackets, and trousers. The frequency of the order increased as their friendship grew, and at one point, she was ordering a new set of clothes the next day a box arrived from the tailor's shop. Misty didn’t protest. They had nothing to lose. 

And Cordelia would encourage her to dress in the clothes on their night in together. Only during the night, in the bedroom. She always had to change back into her nightgown when leaving in the morning, and into her work dress once she returned to her own bedroom. It was an insignificant trouble in Misty’s eyes. But it always seemed to bother Cordelia.

Her brilliant mind figured out a loophole eventually for this problem. It was the job of Moira to take care of the dresses Cordelia had grown out of. So, she drew on this fact and let Moira take some of Misty’s clothes as well, making casual mention of the boy servant at the manor. He could have them if he wished. Moira corrected it was a girl. All the same, Cordelia pretended not to care and pressed that the clothes be given to the child servant. And the same week, Misty received the brand new clothes, which no longer fit Moira's  _ nephew _ . 

The first time Misty visited her bedroom in trousers and a vest, Cordelia radiated pride that permeated her heart. 

The clothes also provided practicality as they made moving around easier. She no longer needed to mind the hem of the dress every time she scrubbed the floor on four limbs, or worry about it brushing against the sooty inside of the fireplace. Regular chores felt less tedious. And what Misty loved the most was the scandalous looks the passers-by gave her in the town. They called her names, ridiculed her for wanting to be a boy. But all of it sounded like nothing but compliments in her ears. Even if it was a bad kind of attention, it was better than being ignored like a shadow.

Despite Misty’s fear at the beginning, Fiona never showed a sign of suspicion towards the requests of Cordelia or Misty's new attire. For a long time, her obliviousness fascinated and disgusted Misty. But she recently realized that Fiona had never seen the finished products herself and therefore could not even harbor a doubt that her invisible servant owned those clothes she'd paid for. Disgusting nonetheless, but convenient for Misty.

To the contrary, Mr. Hache must have been aware of the situation. He would often examine the clothes on Misty with great curiosity as if having a moment of deja vu. But he asked no questions. If he did, though, it wouldn't be a problem. Misty would simply repeat the words Moira had fed her for many years.  _ They are reach-me-downs from her nephew. _

To this day, they'd never talked about the elephant––or the ghost, rather––in the house. 

Misty stood up from the kitchen chair and went to look for Moira. 

Sweeping silence enfolded the hallways in its embrace. At the bottom of the staircase, she stood on the invisible boundary, straining her ears for any noise upstairs. Nothing. But someone cleared their throat in a room on the other side of the entrance hall. 

Moira was in the laundry room, wringing the last chunk of articles in the machine.

“I’m back” Misty said. “The things are on the kitchen table.”

“Good. Now, take the landry out. I have to start making dinner.” Moira left the basket of wrung articles on the floor and brushed past her. 

With the basket rested on her hip, Misty walked through the now lively kitchen to the outside. She put it down at the clothes-lines and hung her jacket on a pole there. Instead of getting to work, however, she took a letter she'd written last night out of the breast pocket, walked around the manor, and pulled a long stick out of the mountain of sacks of firewood ash. It had a clothes-peg attached at one end. She put it on the letter and marched to stand under Cordelia's window. The stick was long enough to reach the second floor. The corner of the letter grazed the glass before the tip of the stick gave one light but audible tap on it. 

The next moment, the ethereal face of Cordelia appeared from behind the curtains. The sun glared in her pale face, making her squint her eyes as she smiled. The ghostliness of her might have faded away over the years, but looking at her still held Misty spellbound. Especially under the cloudless sky like this.

Cordelia detached the letter from the peg. Clutching it to her chest, she offered another blinding smile.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the heads-up, this chapter contains a not so explicit sex scene. also foxxay feels

As the sunlight warmed the back of her head, Cordelia read the letter on the windowsill.

Their correspondence started shortly after Misty had mastered the alphabet, and had never stopped since. The letter was full of wiggly lines. There was no denying Misty’s handwriting lacked a bit of neatness compared to her own. Even now that the girl's vocabulary had improved, the messy handwriting had stayed the same. Misty once said Cordelia was the only one who could decode it. The only Misty expert in the world, as the girl put it herself. That notion always drowned her in a sense of pride. 

In the letters, Misty talked about her experiences in daily life. New shops in the town, strange shapes of clouds she’d seen from the yard, colorful birds she’d heard singing outside her window. All those small but precious moments that she might forget to tell Cordelia, she would note down on the spot and write Cordelia a letter everyday.

There was one minor complaint on Cordelia’s part, however. In those letters, the name of a specific person received frequent mentions. Hank, the blacksmith boy. He had been a recurring theme since the beginning, and it irked Cordelia how much Misty seemed to adore him. 

There was only sibling love between them. Cordelia did not doubt it. Still, every time his name appeared before her eyes, some knotty feeling boiled deep inside her chest. When this feeling had begun to show itself a few years ago, Cordelia assumed it would vanish in time. But it only grew stronger and hotter, to the point it had become her default.  

Misty had other people to love, when Cordelia’s love was reserved only for her. It wasn’t fair. 

She hated the vague image of Hank’s bearded face, hated the abstract smell of his sweat mixed with iron, hated his adam’s apple that Misty found so fascinating. She wished him gone. He didn’t deserve her. Although, to be honest, she wasn’t sure if she deserved her, either . 

After finishing the letter, Cordelia hid it in one of the dress boxes kept under the bed. It was almost full to the brim with the compiling letters. She would have to get the fourth box. As he put it away, she patted the dust bunnies off her dress. 

There came knocks on the door. 

Unlike her mother, Moira always waited for Cordelia’s permission to enter. With a whiff of cooked onion, she brought in a box with Mr. Hache’s name on it. 

“Your new dress, dear.” Moira put the box on the bed. A a stray dust bunny wafted in the slight current of air, and she brushed it off the mattress. “Your room is getting dirty. I will bring a broom for you later.”

“I like my room exactly as it is, thank you.”

Moira didn’t bother a grimace. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you when you get your lungs bad.”

Her health was one of the least important concerns for Cordelia. To keep the room unclean, it was an intentional decision. Fiona detested filth in any shape or form, so she would find it appalling to stand in this room. Even if she had any motive to come in, the herd of her beloved dust bunnies would keep the visit as short as possible. A clever design, dare she say. 

Left in peace again, Cordelia sat beside the box and fixed the half-undid bow around it, but kept her hands off the box itself. Moving to the bookshelves instead, she picked a notebook from the tier at eye level and sat at the writing desk. 

Words filled every corner of the pages. Her words. It was her thing now, to create stories. After almost two decades of reading books, this seemed like an obvious and necessary step to take. 

The current work was about the adventure of a good witch and her best friend dragon, who could turn herself into a human girl at will. The dragon would rescue the witch from the prison just one day shy of her execution and teach her what it meant to be a human. They would travel around the world together. There would be people chasing them, seeking to put their heads on a silver platter for reward money, as well as someone hankering for the dragon to have her as a pet. This dragon-seeking character would be the main villain of the story. His evil powers could cancel out all the dragon’s supernatural abilities, and in the chapter in progress, the dragon would finally fall into the hands of the villain.

For the last couple of days, Cordelia had been racking her brain how the good but powerless witch could save her best friend. None of the ideas so far felt sufficient enough. The two protagonists deserved nothing but a grand happy ending with roses and celebratory cheers from people. 

Misty's vivid imagination could help, but asking her for ideas was out of the question. She didn't know about Cordelia's writing. No one did.

This writer's block didn't bother her. She was the one with the pen. If it had to take weeks to find a way out, so be it. But when it came to her real life, it was her mother who held the pen. Cordelia often wondered what kind of ending was in store for her and her Misty.  Every story must have an ending. It was simply a matter of time.

She hoped it would be a happy one, not with roses perhaps, but with a sodden flower of the early spring. But at the same time, it was a non–ignorable fact that Misty could abandon this place today if she wished. She had nearly succeeded many years ago as a new servant. Now, unlike the first time, there were people outside here who she could rely on. Hank for instance. And every time this idea flashed across her mind, it turned the comfort of the night into an unforgiving weight that pinned her down.

How could the same one person be the reason to both fear and look forward to the future?

Sometimes, she even cursed the whole existence of Misty. If she hadn’t had her, there would have been nothing to stop her from letting her hopes fly out of the window, wishing for a better life in the next one. With Misty, this life had a reason to drag on. She had a purpose, a motive to cling onto it. This one bright thing in her heart.

It wasn’t fair.

…

The new box from the tailor's shop stayed in her mind, but remained undisturbed all the same. It sat in the closet, under the cascade of her old garments, for several days until the visiting day of the week.

When the night came, Cordelia placed it on the bed and waited. 

Lately, it felt like the waiting time had gotten longer, like Misty was arriving at a much later hour than she used to. But Cordelia had no watch to confirm or refute her doubt. All she had was a yearning heart and a messed up sense of time. 

The door knob rattled quietly. The shadow of Misty snuck in through the tiniest gap in the door with no more telltale sound. Cordelia went to meet her halfway, pulling her into her arms.

"I missed you so much," Misty said. She always knew what Cordelia wanted to hear.

Cordelia said the phrase back, burying her face deeper in Misty’s chest. Her warmth seeped into her skin through the thin nightgown. She wished they could melt and merge with one another.  

Pulling out of the embrace, Misty cupped her cheeks. "You’re cold as ice, winter princess." She looked at the fireplace, where the smoldering ember crackled. "I can steal some coal from downstairs. Won't take a minute."

Cordelia shook her head. "There's more left in the bucket. I just didn't want to use it up before you came."

"You mustn't worry about me. They say it's going to be a harsh winter, and it's only the beginning." Misty added a scoop of coal to the fire with a practiced hand, flattening it out on top of the previous pile. 

"I know winters harsher than this," Cordelia said.

With a smile, Misty sauntered back to her. "I will steal some when I come up here next week. So, don't think about cutting back on it, okay?”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble for it.”

“And I don't want you to get sick. Besides, it’s Spalding that manages the coal. What’s he going to do? Tell Fiona on me?” Misty sat in front of the fire. “Come sit with me.”

As Cordelia did, Misty lay down and rested her head on her lap, burying her face in Cordelia’s stomach. Her soft breathing tickled Cordelia in the navel. The flames very slowly wrapped up the entire chunk of coal and illuminated Misty’s curls. A flame-haired girl. As though she was a fairy born from the sacred fire.  

Misty looked up at her. “Did you look inside the new box?”

“Not yet, of course.”

“But you must!” Misty got up and, as she found the object on the bed, came back to her at the fireplace. “It’s your turn to open it.”

“Oh-- Is it? I thought I did the last time.”

Misty gave a shrug. A small smirk crept across her lips.

It made Cordelia frown. “Did you hide something in there?”

“No, I would never.”

“Misty, the last time you put your collection of cicada shells in the box, I almost screamed the entire house awake.”

“And I promised to never do that again,” Misty said, taking her hands. “Didn’t I?”

Still, her apprehension refused to dissipate completely.

“Come on, Delia. Open it. I promise you, I would never do anything to make you scream.” 

The waving flames twinkled in Misty pleading eyes, and this was where Cordelia’s reluctance met its demise. Throwing a final glance at Misty, she braced herself for any kind of surprises before undoing the ribbon. She opened the box. 

To her relief, there was nothing sprinkled all over the garment-- The dress, to be precise, with an abundance of frills.  

Cordelia looked up, and Misty answered with a mischievous grin. 

“Oh, Misty--”

“This shade of blue is the latest trend in the town. Try it on.”

“I asked Fiona for a suit.”

Misty’s grin grew wider. “And I asked Uncle Hache for a dress. Fiona wouldn’t know. Please, princess, let me see you in it.”

The pleading look again. So, Cordelia accepted a surrender and picked the dress up. Bathed in the light of the flames, the color blue almost looked black with a hint of yellow. She stood up to take off her nightgown while Misty held the dress near the fire to warm it up.

“Arms up,” Misty said.

Cordelia let her put the dress on her, watching the chapped fingers button up at the front one by one. The topmost button came to rest at the base of her neck, and the high collar wrapped her neck in a delicate embrace. Wide-collared dresses tended to make her feel too haughty and therefore too vulnerable. In this dress, Cordelia felt like she could retain her humility and still look appealing to Misty's eyes. 

“Does it fit alright?” Misty said. 

“It’s perfect, like it’s been made for me.”

“It has been made for you. Only you.” Misty then took some steps back, running her eyes over Cordelia. Their eyes met. "You look divine. The moment people lay their eyes on you, they will have no choice but to fall in love."

But Cordelia didn’t want strangers to fall in love with her. “I’m sure they'd think me hideous.”

Misty responded with a shrug and a smirk. “Honestly, you look like Humpty Dumpty.”

It stung. Despite the true value of those words, hearing Misty say them still cut her to the quick more than she’d expected. 

Misty hastened to come closer and cupped her cheeks. “Hey, it’s a joke, okay? Of course, you don’t look like an egg.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely. You’re the prettiest girl I ever know.” Misty's dry lips kissed her on the forehead. “I guess I need to teach you the art of joking sometime.”

Cordelia didn’t know how to respond. She felt silly and pathetic. If she were a regular girl, Misty would never have to suffer her naiveté like this. 

She moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think I’d ever be good at it.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Misty sat next to her. 

“I mean, joking isn’t my thing. Every time you tell me one, you have to explain it, and I still don’t get it.”

“You need practice, is all.”

“Perhaps, some people are born without the gift. Joking, talking… dancing. Maybe it’s just all for naught.”

Misty took her hands. “Stop belittling yourself so, Delia. Your dancing is improving every week.” Without disconnecting their hands, she stood up and smiled down at Cordelia. “Dance with me. Allow me to make you smile before the night ends.”

Despite everything, the way she said it already managed to coax a genuine smile out of Cordelia. She let Misty pull her up and into her arms and take the lead. Their legs moved in sync with one another to the rhythm of Misty’s humming. Cordelia itched to look down at her own feet out of instinct, but Misty kept their bodies close together.

“Eyes up,” Misty said.

For the following several moments, they continued to stare into each other’s eyes. And it made her forget how difficult those moves were for her.

“See? You’re much better than the first time,” Misty said. “Not bumping into the bookshelves anymore.”

With a widening smile, Cordelia rested her head on her shoulder. Her eyelashes brushed against Misty’s neck. She blinked slowly a few times, feeling as though the warmth of her friend could flow into her through the hair. 

Misty planted a kiss on her temple. “We really look like a prince and a princess like this,” she said. “I once saw a wedding at the church in the town. Did I tell you that?”

Cordelia gave a nod. 

“It was amazing. The music, the flowers, everything sparkling.”

Cordelia tried to picture the scene. Some of her favorite books had illustrations of a wedding. She put Misty and herself in the image, standing in front of the pulpit as everyone celebrated their union. But the music, she couldn’t hear no matter what. What did those books mean when they said ‘the graceful sound of a violin’ or ‘the thick and dry sound of a drum’? And how did they sound different from a clarinet or a piano? 

They said music was the most basic part of humanity, that to love music was to exist. Then, it would mean she wasn’t a human-- They might be correct. 

“Hank wants to get married,” Misty said.

For some moments, Cordelia kept moving her feet in silence. “What?”

“Hank, he’s looking for a wife. I don’t think he would make a bad husband, but he definitely lacks sensitivity. One time he made me sniff his shoe. It was stinky.”

Cordelia wondered how on earth that shaggy imbecile always managed to ruin their perfect moment without being present. His name should be categorized as a profanity, not to be uttered in civilized situations. And what kind of a barbarian would force her Misty to do such a primitive thing?  He was a winter draft on an otherwise perfect night. He was the clouds obscuring the Moon. He was an ink smudge on her favorite sentence--

“Are you alright?”

Looking up, Cordelia realized she was now standing frozen on the spot. She nodded. “I’m sorry. Just a little out of breath.” With a tight smile, she returned to sit on the bed.

Misty lay beside her and let out a quiet laugh. “Imagine his children. Those tiny Hanks. Ugh, I’m too young to be called Auntie.”

“Do you want children?” Cordelia said. 

A deadly boring subject, but in comparison to the moronic boy, any chance for another subject might as well be a gift from the Higher Being. 

“I’m not interested in marriage,” Misty said.

“I know, but Fiona had me out of wedlock. Not that she could’ve found a husband if she had tried.”

Misty’s lips curled into a lopsided smile. “I don’t know. I can’t see myself being a mama.”

Cordelia stared into the space between them, where the mental image of a mother Misty cradled her child in her arms, humming for them, looking at them as if they were her whole world. A strange feeling clogged up her heart, though she couldn't put a finger on it. She wasn't sure if she liked it. 

“Do you know how to make a baby?” Cordelia said. 

Misty's eyes widened. “Pardon me?” 

“How to make a baby. Do you know? Girls are taught at a young age, aren’t they?” 

With her eyes shifting, Misty sat up. "Well, yeah. A little, I suppose? I don't know. My ma passed away before I was old enough.”

"But you do know some stuff, don't you?"

Misty rubbed her forehead. "I mean, some town kids tell me things."

“Can you teach me?”

“What-- Why? I mean, I don’t know a lot about it.”

“But that’s what you said when you taught me the dance steps. You’re a great teacher.” Cordelia offered a smile.

And that seemed to win over Misty as she sighed and nodded in the same movement. “Fine. Um, how much do you know?”

“I know that two people who fancy each other sleep in the same bed, but not actually sleep. It’s called basket-making, but doesn't actually involve making of baskets. They kiss. And a couple of months later, a baby comes out of… somewhere. And...” Listening to her own words, it became painfully clear how ignorant she was of this particular matter. 

“Well,” Misty said, “I can’t say it’s all wrong, but-- Where did you learn those things?”

“Books. Fiona sometimes gives me that kind of books.”

Misty buried her face in her hands. 

“But I’ve never been able to put everything together,” Cordelia said. “How does sleeping in the same bed give you a baby? We love each other and sleep in the same bed. Nothing ever happens.”

“Because that’s not-- There’s a way to do it.”

“And what way is that?”

Misty opened her mouth, only to close it. Her obvious reluctance didn’t sit well with Cordelia. 

“I’m sorry. Maybe I’m not asking the right questions.”

“No, it’s not that,” Misty said. “I mean, I’m trying to… I don’t know what precisely you are asking from me.”

“I just want you to teach me like I teach you geography. I don't know what else to ask for, because I don't know what I don't know.” As patient as she was, Cordelia began to question if this circular exchange would run through the whole night. 

In charged silence, Misty’s eyes bored a hole in her face. They slowly travelled from her eyes, to her lips, to her chest, and back to her eyes. Each look stronger than the previous one, lingering long enough to thicken the air around them. It choked Cordelia. It inflamed her body inside the dress.

At last, Misty shifted closer until their knees touched and took a handful of her dress. “Okay,” she said, “take your dress off, then.”

Cordelia did so as Misty’s hands undid the buttons and lowered the bodice to her waist. Jiggling herself out of it, she hopped off the bed to retrieve the nightgown by the fireplace. 

“You don’t need to put that on,” Misty said. “Come back here.”

Although the instructions seemed peculiar to Cordelia, she returned without a question or a veil. She was in good hands. Perhaps, the lesson needed her body as geography lessons required a globe, she thought. 

With the dress set aside, Cordelia sat down. The sheets felt coarse and cold against her bare skin, but something similar to exhilaration ran through her body, mixed with a sense of immorality. Never had she ever committed such an act of indecency, walking around outside the bathroom naked, even resting her bare bottom on the mattress. Moira would faint if she ever found out about this. 

“I’m cold,” Cordelia said.

Misty gave a nod, took her own clothes off, and quickly got both of them under the duvet. They pulled each other in their arms out of habit, legs intertwined, foreheads almost touching. Misty always had a higher body temperature, but her skin felt even more searing without a barrier. 

Cordelia closed her eyes. “Is this how--”

But Misty pressed her lips against hers, and pulled back in the next breath. “Sorry. What did you say?”

All the thoughts in Cordelia's mind had melted way. She could only shake her head, too overwhelmed by the fingers that now stroked the base of her neck.

The same lips brushed against hers again. Hot breath, gentle fingers, drumming hearts. And a sigh that came floating out from their mouths in unison. Cordelia pressed back, propelled by sudden thirst. In the midst of the haze, Misty got on top of her and began planting kisses on her neck. Each kiss sank Cordelia's body deeper and deeper into the mattress.

And although this sensation still had no solid name, Cordelia knew in the moment that this was what she'd wanted for a long time. She wanted to drown in it, get inebriated in it. In the arms of her love. Her desire finally had a place to be. 

Misty looked her in the eyes. “I've never done this. I don't want to hurt you."

“You’ll never hurt me.” 

Truth to be told, Cordelia had no idea what she was consenting to. But whatever Misty had to offer, the answer would always be a yes. She didn't expect to reach for the sun and not get burned a little.

What Misty's fingers did, however, it left more than slight burns. They slid from her neck, across her chest, and to the area between her legs. She felt something electrifying course through her body. Like the lightning that struck the tree on the hill. She might have screamed, too, like the thunder that left her ears ringing long afterwards. She was not sure. Everything else in the world ceased to exist then. 

Misty showered her face with kisses, running her fingers through Cordelia's hair. And Cordelia felt tears roll down her temple. 

Misty jerked away. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"I don't know. I don't." Cordelia wiped her face, but it seem to only invite more fresh tears. 

Her desire had been quenched. There was no doubt about that. Yet, she couldn't help the feeling that she'd lost something at the same time. Something warm and bright. Something she had cherished growing up. A part of their childhood. Forever gone. And she felt frightened to the core that Misty would disappear in another moment. 

So, Cordelia clung to her. "Don't leave me, please. I love you. I love you."

Misty shushed her gently. "I love you, too, Delia. Of course, I will never leave you."

"You're my whole world."

"I know. And you are mine."

But her tears never stopped. She cried as Misty continued to press her lips against every bit of her face. When their lips met, the kiss had a salty flavor. That made her want to wail more. 

"Cry until tears run out. I'll keep you safe." 

In the end, Cordelia cried herself to sleep, feeling soft kisses on her closed eyelids. 

…

It was the quiet snoring of Misty that woke Cordelia. She opened her eyes, and the angelic sight of the sleeping beauty greeted her. The weak sunlight came in through the curtains and painted her face pearl–colored. In an instant, Cordelia saw their error. The sun had risen above the horizon.

“Misty, wake up!” Cordelia shook her by the shoulder. “We overslept.”

Within a split second, Misty’s eyes opened wide. “Damn it!” She bounced out of bed, as naked as she’d fallen asleep the night before.

Cordelia felt it was disrespectful to stare, so she averted her eyes. Creeping out of bed herself, she hurried across the room for her nightgown. She threw it on, but as Misty cursed under her breath by the bed, Cordelia rushed back in order to assist the girl without buttoning up the nightgown. 

Misty’s bearing was not any better.

“You’re doing every other button,” Cordelia said.

But Misty kept going with her unsteady hands. “I don’t have time to do them again now. I gotta go.” Grabbing the jacket off the floor, she dashed to the door, but stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, for goodness sake--”

"I'm so sorry. I should've stayed awake for you."

“No, no. I didn’t-- It's not your fault. I just meant to give you this last night.” Misty shifted her gaze on a kite, propped up against the wall at their feet. “Next week, we could go outside to fly it.”

"Okay, okay. Just go now. They might catch you.”

Misty gave her a calm smile. "Don't worry. I won't get in trouble. I promise."

Still, Cordelia rested her hand on Misty’s cheek. "Come under the window as soon as possible. I need to know you returned safely.”

With a nod and a kiss on Cordelia’s cheek, Misty crept out of the room.

The next several minutes were pure agony. She waited on the windowsill, looking down at every slight noise, attempting to get hold of herself without any success. It was her fault. If this turned out to be their last time together, she would never forgive herself. 

After a myriad of worst case scenarios and sporadic nervous breakdowns, Misty showed up at last. Her smile looked oblivious but smug, as if to say,  _ I told you I'd be fine _ . And it was all took to lift the weight from Cordelia's shoulders. Just like always.

Although Misty had to return inside soon, Cordelia lingered there long afterwards with her head rested against the window. The sky was still high, the trees bald, the wind crisp, and the birds chirping. It amazed her how the world remained unchanged, when her life had turned itself upside down overnight.  

She remembered the heat of Misty's fingers on her,  _ in _ her, the way those strong arms held her around the waist, and the modest yet undeniable curves of her breasts. 

It was a stupid idea to look away from her bare body earlier. Now, she had to wait another week to admire the beauty again.

Before Moira brought her breakfast, she hid the kite under the bed and put the new dress on. And after breakfast, she wrote a letter. She expressed her gratitude for the dance last night, pressed that Misty not order another dress for her anymore, and told her what a tormenting week it would be to spend without her touch. It felt strange to put it in words, getting such a raw desire out in the open. Not a bad feeling, though. It felt just like walking around the room in her bare skin. 

As she put her pen down, she heard the unmistakable footsteps of her mother in the hallway, approaching the bedroom. The manor had enjoyed the absence of the woman for the last several days. Her return was expected, but it vexed Cordelia that she had to choose this particular moment to pay a visit. At least, she wasn’t stomping.  

Tucking the letter away in the drawer, Cordelia opened a nearby book. She turned it right side up in time as Fiona let herself in. The smell of her perfume made the hair on the back of her head stand up.

Cordelia did not lift her gaze from the book until Fiona waved something under her nose before placing it on the desk. It was a book and a small sack. 

The warning sound rang in Cordelia's mind at that. Never in their bouts of interchange had Fiona brought more than one gift at a time. Whatever was to come, Cordelia should not accept it at face value.

“It’s some kind of a rare berry,” Fiona said. “It can only be found in a certain area on the coast.”

“Thank you, mother.” Without taking a further look, Cordelia moved the gifts to the corner of the desk.

As feared, Fiona lingered about. “This city on the coast, I’ve been visiting there for some time now.” She paused, as if it wasn’t a one-way conversation. “I found a gentleman, who just asked my hand in marriage.” 

The words didn’t sink in right away. “You’re getting married?”

“Not to worry. He won’t be living here. He has an important job in the city. So, don’t be surprised if I come home less often.”

But Cordelia was surprised. There was a breathing man on earth willing to submit to her mother. He had no idea it was his coffin he was making, though Cordelia couldn't feel sorry for him. His imprisonment would be her freedom.

"But don't you think you could live any differently,” Fiona said. “I'll have Moira keep an eye on you just the same."

"Yes, mother."

It made no difference. She couldn't wait to share this news with Misty. She would have to write it in the letter quickly, because Misty could be tapping on the window at any moment. How should she put it?  _ Fiona is getting married _ . No, that would ruin the celebratory tone she wanted to aim for.  _ Fiona is moving away _ . Better. It’d be easy for Misty to infer--

Something soft and chilly caressed her cheek, and she flinched in the seat. Close to her face, Fiona’s hand hovered as though it had lost its home. So dumbfounded, Cordelia made the mistake of locking eyes with her mother. In that instant, the softness in Fiona’s eyes vanished. Whatever it was that had spurred the act of intimacy, she now looked like she was reminded of her visceral hatred towards her daughter. 

Fiona looked away. "Well, I shall leave you now--"

It was when a tap on the window came from behind the curtains. 

“What was that?" Fiona said, taking steps towards the source of the sound. 

Cordelia’s blood ran cold. “It's the birds. They do that sometimes when they are bored."

The lie, as flimsy as it was, managed to stop Fiona from touching the curtains. "You're now friends with birds?" she said almost to herself. She seemed to hesitate, then, but eventually walked out of the room in silence.

Cordelia ached to run to the window as soon as the door closed. But she waited, listening to the footsteps until they faded away, and waited more in case Fiona decided to come back. But there was no more sound in the hallway. She rushed to open the window. 

Misty had just turned on her heel, the long stick swaying over her shoulder. The sound of the window pushed open made her turn around, and her sigh of relief reached Cordelia's ears despite the distance.

"I'm sorry," Cordelia said silently. 

Misty came back closer and held the stick to the window. 

Releasing the letter from the clothes peg turned out to be a challenge for Cordelia as her hands trembled. She managed anyhow, and holding up her index finger, she signaled Misty to give her a second before going back to the desk. With the letter taken out of the drawer, she scribbled on the other side of the paper,  _ Mother was here. We need to be more careful, _ and folded it in half. 

When Misty read the note, her face became clouded. But looking up, she only gave Cordelia a reassuring smile and a nod.

The rest of the day Cordelia was able to spend in peace, reading the letter many times. Misty’s handwriting seemed neater than usual, which warmed Cordelia’s heart in an inexplicable way.

_ I found myself feeling bashful even thinking about you. _

_ Last night was special. I was ever nervous the whole time, but I’m quite happy that you were my first time. I already miss you, as I always do the morning after. One night is never long enough to show you the extent of my love for you. _

_ But please know, while I would love nothing more than to spend night after night feeling your skin, this will not change anything between us. I’ve always loved you in every possible way. With or without this, my love would stay just as strong. _

The second part of the letter talked about the little adventure Misty had had this morning upon returning downstairs. It involved Moira in the kitchen and Misty climbing out of the window to pretend she had been taking a walk around the manor. Misty was barefoot the whole time, which thankfully Moira didn’t seem to take notice of. It’d be best to bring her shoes at night from then on.

But Cordelia would hear about this adventure more in detail next week without a doubt. So, she focused on the first part. After the lunch, between her writing sessions, until the sun set, she cherished each word like they were Misty’s body, and the blank space between them like her heart. 


	10. Chapter 10

Misty hummed as she helped Moira prepare dinner in the kitchen. Her task was, to her excitement, to cut potatoes. She cut some pieces into hearts, while some were cut in the shape of a star. Only a few of them, though. They were going to be bite-size surprises in the soup. 

Although her handling of a kitchen knife was less than mediocre in the usual case, she felt like she could slaughter a pig like a butcher if asked now. She had no idea how to do it, but it wasn’t an obstacle. Even if the knife sank in her skin, she would probably not bleed or feel pain. Anything seemed possible.

Her joy floated around her. She could feel it with her fingers. It even seemed to catch the attention of Spalding, whose eyes were a pair of holes when it came to Misty. He threw a suspicious look at her and kept his distance, so Misty smiled at him in exchange. 

As luck would have it, one of the heart-shaped potato piece ended up in Spalding’s soup bowl.

"I did that. That's me!” Misty said and got a spoonful from her own bowl. “Look, I have one in my soup, too!" Bringing it to her mouth, she hoped Cordelia would get one of these hearts, too.

That said, she wasn’t smiling from ear to ear round-the-clock. Her cheek muscles needed to take a rest once in a while. So, she would switch to picturing the naked body of Cordelia beneath her, and it heated up the sore muscles nice and good. She nearly drove the automobile into a tree this way. 

It was true that she had misgivings at first, right after leaving Cordelia that morning. There were so many stories in the town about people who used to be childhood best friends but began to drift apart--or worse, hate each other--after becoming a couple. Changes like that sometimes contained poison, and some people did not have resistance to it. She felt guilty for ever doubting their love, for comparing it to that of the ordinary people, but this was an uncharted territory, especially for Cordelia. 

Yet, with the unapologetic letter, Cordelia blew it all away at once. Not only that, in another letter later that day, she informed Misty of Fiona’s semi-departure. One fewer reason for the two of them to keep on their toes. Nobody could blame Misty for feeling invincible.

Light on her feet, Misty strode around the town. It was full of people, full of lovers. Had there always been so many of them, or was she finally taking notice of them now? Either way, none of the couples looked as happy as Cordelia and her. It couldn’t even be a competition. They were the most perfect couple, and there was nothing other people could do but envy. 

Then, her feet stopped in front of a jewelry store. She looked at the rings on display. Big sparkling rings and necklaces seemed to be the current trend, but Misty found them obnoxious, too much for her sensitive eyes. People coming in and out of the store seemed just as repellent, dressed in an embarrassing amount of self-importance. 

If she were to buy Cordelia a ring, it would be humble yet elegant, out of this world like Cordelia herself. Something for the royalty. Something Misty could never afford in her lifetime. 

Annoyed and dejected, she walked away to finish shopping. Afterwards, she drove to the blacksmith’s shop. 

As the vehicle approached the street, she heard a woman's shouting voice coming out of the shop over the booming engine sound. Mrs. Renard's daily outburst. 

“I tell you, if you don’t get a hold of this bone, you’re going to end up alone for good. Is that what you want?”

Misty parked the automobile and poked her head around the shop's door. Hank was at his work station. Giving Mrs. Renard a semblance of a hello, she walked towards him. 

“What is it about today?” Misty said.

“My marriage.”

“The baker thinks you’re a good champ,” Mrs. Renard said. “The daughter is interested, too. Don’t you get how rare that is for you?”

"The baker’s daughter?” Misty said. “I just bought bread in their shop. She's a nice gal." 

Hank glared at her.

"Haven’t you look at her hips? They are made for childbearing." In a crude gesture, Mrs. Renard brought her hands down around her own hips. 

"I don't want kids," Hank said. "I want to be a master blacksmith."

"What use do men have if they don't want to have offsprings?" Mrs. Renard said. 

This, Misty couldn’t agree with. "Well, Spalding doesn't have kids, but he's quite useful sometimes. He's actually kind to animals and--"

“Shut up, potato goblin,” Mrs. Renard said.

So, walking off to the fireplace, Misty prepared lunch and waited while the other two continued to argue over her head. As loud and vulgar as Mrs. Renard could be during an argument, it was never her way to throw things around unlike a certain woman back at the manor. Misty never felt in danger minding her own business. 

After a while, the argument came to a conclusion that Hank would, at least, talk to the girl. Both of them seemed to think they had made a bigger compromise than the other. 

Misty took the utterly exhausted boy outside and made him sit down. She put two sweet potatoes and slices of walnut bread between them.

Hank looked down, round-eyed. "What are these? Why so lavish?"

“Just felt like treating myself, is all,” Misty said with a suppressed grin.

Taking a bite out of their respective sweet potato, they let out a unified groan of bliss. 

Misty glanced at him. "The baker's daughter is a very sweet girl. She’s good with children. She taught me a song once."

"You're tone deaf."

"Give her a chance. You're lucky you can marry someone when you want to."

"Oh, come on. You couldn't give a shit about my marriage, and now you agree with Mrs. Renard? What, did she bribe you?"

Mrs. Renard spoke from inside the shop. "Why assume so when I can make her say anything I want without wasting money on her?" 

With a shake of the head, Hank raised his hand to rub his temple. The metal accessories around his wrist made a dry noise as they clinked against each other. 

An idea formed quickly in Misty’s head. "Hey, is that a new bracelet?”  

“Huh? Oh-- No, I made this several weeks ago.”

“Can you make me a ring?”

“A ring?”

Misty nodded. “I can pay, with potatoes. I got more of these sweet things in the automobile, fresh out of the market.” 

Hank laughed. “I don’t take money from you, but why? You never cared about them."

"To give Cordelia. I want to marry her someday."

Whether at this confession or not, Mrs. Renard snickered inside. They both ignored it.

"What kind of ring are you thinking?” Hank said.

“Something with a flower. She likes flowers. And not like your ragged rings, but something delicate and bright.” Heat crept up her neck. She took a mouthful of her potato to mask it. 

Hank examined his rings, wiggling his fingers to see how the sunlight played on the metallic surfaces. “Alright, I’ll make you and your princess matching rings.”

“Really?” Misty beamed and, over the slices of bread between them, pulled him into an embrace. “I love you, big brother. I love you so, so much.”

“Okay. Alright.  Don’t squash the bread. .” After giving her gentle pats on the back, Hank made them separate. “So, do want to use iron or aluminum?”

“What?”

“Copper is more lightweight, but it’s a little hard to get these days. Aluminium doesn’t exactly rust, but--”

“I was thinking, maybe silver if not gold.” Even as she said it, she felt her excitement deflate. 

“Silver?” Hank grimaced a little. “I mean, it’s possible if I have the material, but”--lowering his voice, he leaned in--”Mrs. Renard keeps the expensive metals in a safe. I’m not allowed to touch the key.”

“Oh--”

“Hey, don’t be so sad. Iron can be just as beautiful as silver or gold. Copper is orange. Isn’t that cool?” He showed one reddish ring on his left index finger.

But Misty shook her head with a polite smile. “I don’t want to settle for the easiest option. Cordelia deserves nothing but the best.”

Hank didn't try to convince her otherwise.

...

As the lunchtime ended and Mrs. Renard refused to let her stay for another moment, Misty returned to the automobile. She sat in the driver's seat, but instead of starting the engine, watched the pedestrians.

She couldn’t give up on the ring idea. 

If only she could buy gold. How much did it cost? She should’ve asked Hank earlier. Now, Mrs. Renard probably wouldn’t even allow her to cross the threshold of the shop for re-entry. 

Anyhow, all the coins she had fished out of the pockets didn’t seem sufficient. Most of it wasn’t her own money to begin with, only given by Moira so she could run errands in the town smoothly. If any big purchase were to be made, it would come to light in a matter of a couple of days.

She did get paid once a week, a small amount, but she always spent it all on little things for Cordelia like letter paper and a kite. If she decided to refrain from this materialistic indulgence, how many months would it take to save enough for gold? Perhaps, Moira would agree for a raise if Misty negotiated persistently. But either way, an actual ring would be months and months away.

She wished money would fall from the sky.

In that instant, her eyes caught a gentleman crossing the street with a lady at his side. They passed in front of the automobile, arms locked in each other’s. And as they reached the pavement, another pedestrian bumped into the gentleman. They exchanged a civilized apology and kept walking. Misty seemed to be the only one who noticed that the gentleman had dropped something there in the collision. 

She stepped out of the vehicle and walked towards it. It was a heavy purse. Money was in it, more money than Misty had ever seen at once, let alone have in her hands. 

A surge of temptation swept over her. A voice inside her head whispered her to take the money and sell the purse. She knew how to do it. She used to do it in her childhood. Beyond all doubt, this could get her enough gold and even a piece of gem stone to go with the ring. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

But no, another voice said. If she gave in here, the ring would be a product of her insincerity. She’d just told Hank that Cordelia deserved nothing but the best, hadn’t she?

She had to find the gentleman and return the purse. 

The problem was, the gentleman was long gone, and Misty remembered nothing noteworthy about his appearance to help her look. He was wearing a top hat. Many men were wearing a top hat as she looked around. The lady beside him, if her memory served Misty well, was in something dark. And a large hat. A hat with bright feathers, yes. Misty now remembered seeing the lady holding the hat as they crossed the street.

Looking ahead of her and behind her, she sought the feathered hat in the crowds. And some blocks away, she thought she'd spotted the pair turning around the corner. She ran. 

The pair was at a stop not so far round the corner, standing in front of a  hatter's shop.

“Sir,” Misty said. “Sir, I believe you dropped your purse.” Bending over for air, she held the item out.

A dainty hand came to take it. "Yes, it is mine. Thank you. How kind of you," the lady said.

“Oh, Jessie, I told you to hang on to it,” another lady said. 

Misty’s head snapped up, and under the top hat, she saw a feminine face.

“I thought I did,” the person in the suit said to the other, then smiled at Misty. “Thank you, kind stranger.” Taking a coin out of the purse, they offered it to Misty. 

"I don't know if I should,” Misty said. “I haven't done much."

The one in the suit laughed. "Take it."

So, Misty did. “Thank you, sir-- I mean, ma’am?”

Another laugh. “Either is fine by me.”

By their side, the one in the dress eyed Misty up and down and smirked to the other. “Why, I didn’t know you had a little apprentice in this town, Jessie.”

“Neither did I.” The one in the suit looked at Misty. “I must say, that suit looks great on you, young one.”

Still overwhelmed, Misty only managed to say thank you.

They walked off, then, bidding her goodbye. But Misty found herself unable to do the same, her gaze fixed on their retreating backs. The one in the suit turned their head around. Their eyes met, and the person gave Misty a gentle smile before disappearing into the crowd.

The walk back to the automobile felt like a lucid dream. A patchwork of sounds and images. She sat in the driver’s seat again, and it felt like she'd been there the whole time since leaving the blacksmith's shop. But in her hand was the coin, hard and now warm. 

She let a few tears fall, and started the vehicle. 

...

She kept the coin as a talisman, secure in the breast pocket of her jacket. A medal of honor. It was not something that could be diverted to the ring project. But the prospect of the long path ahead of her no longer caused her as much distress as before. She knew she could give Cordelia a ring someday. 

“So, I may not be able to buy you things as often for a while,” Misty said, looking up from Cordelia’s lap as they rested in front of the fire. 

“You did the right thing,” Cordelia said. “I’m proud of you.”

“They weren’t young, those people. Fifty-something years old, but they looked so darn happy together. Maybe they’ve been together for many years.”

"Are there many people like you? Women who like men's clothes?"

Misty shrugged. "Not a lot. But I heard it's more common in some far away places."

"And two women...?"

With a full smile, Misty sat up and linked arms with Cordelia. "They looked so happy, arm in arm like this. They are us from the future, you know? But if you don't fancy walking around the town, we could do it by the river or in the forest. Anywhere you'd like. What do you think?"

Cordelia looked down at their linked arms and gave a bashful smile. "I can't wait."

It filled up Misty's heart. She cupped her cheek--always cold as ice--and connected their lips. Cordelia sighed into her mouth. With a gentle hand on Cordelia's chest, Misty laid her down on the floor. Cordelia's long hair fanned out in the flickering shadow of the flames.

"Cordelia, my beautiful witch," Misty said, hovering over her. "I can't wait to call you my wife someday, and for you to call me yours." 

Their lips sought each other's warmth again and again. Misty's clothes grew unbearable each second as her body heated up. 

But Cordelia pulled away. "You don't have to buy me a ring, though, okay? Gold or silver, it has no value for me."

“It’s only because you’ve never seen it.” Planting a kiss on the side of her neck, Misty lay beside her and nuzzled into it. "I’m asking Moira for a raise. She will give in. I know she will.”

“But still, you shouldn’t spend so much money just for me. Don't you have something you want for yourself?”

"I do. A matching ring," Misty said. “Maybe I should find another job now that Fiona is around less to nag. Like shoe shining.”

Cordelia lifted her head and looked down. "No, Misty. You already work too hard."

“And not earning enough.” A sigh escaped her lips. “I wish I was filthy rich like Fiona.”

With furrowed brows and a slight smile, Cordelia caressed her cheek. "If it means so much to you, I can try asking Fiona for it."

"I don't want her involved in this in any way," Misty said without delay. "I saw her in the town today by the way."

Cordelia grimaced. “She’s back? Is she home?”

Misty gave a nod. “She was arguing with a man. I didn’t care to know about what, but she got too excited that she had to sit down on the pavement. That was ugly.”

The fire-lit face of Cordelia grew rigid. "I don't understand why an animal like her is allowed to walk outside freely. She's the one who needs to be locked up."

Every now and then, Misty got startled by the venom in Cordelia’s voice and words that the subject of her mother often generated. It was understandable. Misty would not act any differently if she’d been in her shoes. Still, seeing Cordelia’s inner flames so up close was intimidating. It was, though Misty would never say it out to anybody, one of the moments that reminded her that Cordelia was the daughter of Fiona. 

Misty sat up, pressed her lips against her cheek, and moved onto her lips. Cordelia’s body relaxed in her arms. 

“I think it’s time we took a walk outside,” Misty said. “I could teach you how to fly that kite. Where is it now?”

While Cordelia went to get the kite from under the bed, Misty grabbed a cloak and a pair of outdoor shoes out of the closet. They exchanged the items. 

Cordelia put the cloak on, proceeding to change out of her slippers into the outdoor ones. 

“Uh-uh.” Misty stopped with a gentle hand. “Not until you are in the kitchen.”

“Oh-- Yes, I forgot.” Cordelia took them off and picked them up. 

With her own jacket buttoned up, Misty held her shoes and clutched the kite to her side. She walked to the door. “Ready?”

“No,” Cordelia said. She wrapped her free arm around Misty’s neck for a peck on the lips, and another, and another.

Misty couldn’t help giggling into the kiss. “Are we going or not?”

“I don’t mind staying here and kissing you until dawn.”

Although it’d be a lie to say it didn’t sound tantalizing, Misty willed herself to pull away. “You need fresh air before that.”

So, Misty left first. Out in the hallway, the darkness was quiet, but she had walked the route countless times before. She knew how many steps it took from the bedroom to the staircase, knew which part of which stairs tended to creak. The carpet ended at the foot of the stairs. The hard floor sent chills through her bare feet, but it was a small price to pay for silence. Passing by her own bedroom, she entered the kitchen. The rusty hinge of the backdoor needed a little trick to open without squeaking. 

She knew it all. And she knew that once she got outside, Cordelia would join her within the count of sixty. She counted inside her head while putting on her shoes. Forty–seven, forty–eight. The wind was perfect for flying a kite. Fifty-one, fifty-two. Her body was losing heat in the cold. Fifty-nine, sixty.

Cordelia never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everybody! pls leave a comment to let me know which part you enjoyed and which part you didn't.   
> I mean, i'm going to keep writing regardless of whether I get comments. but lord, i'm losing motivation


	11. Chapter 11

Walking around the room, Cordelia made best effort to count slowly. When she reached thirty, she opened the door.

After all these years, the world beyond the door still remained foreign to her. The first step out into the hallway always made her flinch. The carpet felt grainier under her bare feet than that of her room. But it wasn't as simple as that. Out here, she was losing her footing. Misty had given her advice many times, which spots to avoid walking on or leaning against, but Cordelia could never seem to remember. Even with extreme caution, she feared she might trip over her own foot. 

The house she used to sneak around as a child was a different, more tamed creature from this one. Something must have happened since then. Now, it felt as though the entire layout of the house would change on its own every time she came out. 

The floor creaked under her weight. Cordelia's blood froze. The walls began to melt, threatening to swallow her in, so she went faster. More creaks, more rustles. But she only thought about Misty waiting for her at the end of the nightmare. 

She shouldn't have. 

At the first step down the stairs, one of her shoes knocked against the railing and fell out of her hand, fell down step by step. Strangely enough, the farther it fell, the louder the sound rang in her ears.

And in the next instant, a door opened near the stairs. 

“Who’s there?” Fiona's voice pierced through the darkness. 

Cordelia tried to move, but her body ignored the command. Not a finger could move, as if the soul of the manor had taken control of her body. There was nothing she could do as Fiona's face, lit from below by the candle in her hand, came closer and closer. 

Fiona stopped just before her. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

Without waiting for reply, she grabbed Cordelia by the arm and pulled. The other shoe in her hand fell out and, by the sound of it, followed the same fate as its other half. Fiona dragged her back to the bedroom.

It was only then when Cordelia regained enough bodily control. Shaking off Fiona’s hand, she glared. 

“What’s that look for?” Fiona glared back. “How dare you. Don’t you know what you were just trying do?”

“All I want is just to go outside. Why is that too much to ask for? It’s night. Nobody is around to see me--”

“You’re wrong. So ignorant. They’re always out there, waiting to take advantage of a stupid girl like you.”

“And how am I supposed to know anything like that in this prison?” 

Fiona moved closer. “I’ve fed you, given you shelter and clothes and books since birth. I can assure you, they won’t treat you this nicely in prison.”

Cordelia felt tears prick her eyes. “Prison or slum, anywhere else is better because it doesn’t have you.”

Fiona's hand shot up, ready to slap her. But instead, it lost the momentum and dropped to the mantlepiece as Fiona stumbled back. Her face looked pale even in the orange light of the fire. Cordelia couldn't decide whether it was due to the lack of her usual face powder or it had anything to do with the sweat that was now making her forehead gleam.

This was the first time in many years, or maybe the first time at all, that Cordelia had a good look at her mother. Fiona looked much older, more frail than the woman in her memory. That threw Cordelia off a little, though not enough to take back any of what she'd said. 

Blowing a quiet puff of air, Fiona ran a hand over her forehead. “You should consider your options more carefully. This is your best shot at life.” And she left the room. 

Cordelia remained there, glaring at the closed door while hot tears streamed down her face. In her entire life, she had never talked back to Fiona. Her body would not stop trembling, her vision narrowing, her stomach churning. How pathetic. How cowardly. She couldn't even dare to reach for the doorknob. 

Then, she remembered about Misty, who must be freezing outside. She rushed to the window and opened it. 

From behind the tree, the faint figure of Misty slowly emerged. A biting breeze blew between them for a moment.

“Are you alright?” Misty said.

And her voice made Cordelia break out in tears again, with the only thing in the world that made her _alright_ now so far out of reach.

Misty sat under the tree, watching over her in silence until dawn.

 

* * *

 

Fiona had ordered the door of Cordelia's bedroom to be locked, Misty learned next day in the letter from her. Her lunch was taken away for a week, and they deprived her of the oil refills for the lamp. 

Misty kept her outdoor shoes and the kite under her own bed. 

She couldn’t visit Cordelia under the window as frequently now. This was their only connection left. A lifeline. They had to be careful. So, only once a day, in the dead of night, she would sneak out to exchange letters and give her some bread stolen from the kitchen. 

They had been getting away with it for so long, and that had given Misty a false sense of security. The idea of getting caught had never occurred to her. But it was bound to happen at some point. Misty wondered if this would've hurt less had they always been living with the fear.

Cordelia accepted the punishment, seeing no point in fighting. Each night, more and more life seemed to fade from her smile, and Misty would’ve done anything to be able to fly over and pull her into a tight embrace. But the only thing she could do was to watch Cordelia from the hill, just like when she first fell in love with the pale, fragile ghost.

Several days after the fateful night, Fiona again left the manor. Dressed in her extravagant dress and jewelry, she sauntered into the automobile. Like a queen, she ordered Misty to close the door for her, scowling when Misty did so a little too forcefully.

It was Moira that was responsible for the key to the bedroom according to Cordelia. But exactly where she kept it, Misty’s attempts to find out had been so far unsuccessful. Moira never liked Misty hovering over her, and most importantly, Misty wasn’t supposed to know there was a person locked up upstairs. This sole fact made the operation almost unachievable. She had to wait for Moira slip up.

And one day, it happened. 

When Misty was doing the dishes, she saw a key on a food tray left on the kitchen table. It was a simple, small key. A key Misty had never seen.

Moira came in, then. She took it from Misty’s hand with her usual elusive smile. "I was looking for this. Thank you."

"What key is that?"

“It’s a key.” Moira put it in her apron pocket and left as if nothing had happened. 

Despite the lack of answer, however, Misty now knew. At last. 

Excited, she finished the rest of the dishes at lighting speed and ran outside. There was a small pile of pebbles under Cordelia’s window. She threw one of them at the window, hid behind the tree, and counted ten. If the window didn’t open after that, she would have to repeat the cautionary process. This time, though, the window creaked open at the first signal. Peering out with caution, Misty saw Cordelia's face up there. 

She went closer. “I can get the key. Moira keeps it in her apron. I can go see you tonight just the same.”

Cordelia looked around in visible alarm. 

“It's fine. Fiona has gone away.”

"And Moira?" Cordelia whispered. 

"Sweeping around the house. Don't worry. She won't hear us." 

Although that seemed to ease her nerves, Cordelia still had the shadow of misgivings clouding her face. “But how do you get the key?” 

“Moira hangs the apron in the bedroom at night. It's easy.”

Cordelia paused to think. “No, it's still dangerous. What if you get caught?”

“It's fine. Don't wo--”

“That's what we thought.”

"But--"

"Misty, please."

In that moment, Misty saw fear in her eyes and understood. If they caught her involved in this affair, it'd be their final goodbye.

“Okay, I'll think of something else." 

“Misty, it's all right. I'm happy enough to see your face like this every once in a while.” Cordelia turned her head to a side, though failing to hide her quivering lip.

“But I'm not. This isn't enough for _me_. I need to touch you, feel you closer. You have to know that I love you as much as you love me. I'm not giving up on us.”

Having said that, Misty was short of ideas. Thinking was never her strength. She had never been able to solve riddles without a clue or two from Cordelia, if not the answers. But now, Cordelia was close to surrender, and Misty had nobody but herself to rely on for solving this problem. 

She tried to get hints from all the fairy tales with imprisoned princesses. But none of the solutions seemed acceptable. It wasn’t a magical world they lived in. No matter how much she racked her brain, stealing the key out of Moira’s apron seemed to be the only and best idea. 

She wanted to talk to Hank. His problem solving skills weren't any better than hers, his brain made from all the potatoes she fed him. But it should be better than thinking alone. And above all, she needed a shoulder to lean on, someone to show her vulnerability and fears to, because Cordelia could never see that weak side of her. Misty must stay strong as her invincible prince.

Still, even in the absence of Fiona, Misty couldn’t just abandon her chores and go to the town unprompted.

“Moira, is there anything we need from the town?” Misty said, sticking her head in the laundry room. 

Moira only glanced at her. “No.”

“Oh--”

“But I need you to prune the trees in the driveway.”

Misty frowned. “Prune? Why?”

In her many years of serving the manor, it had never been a necessity to bother with the trees.

“Because you’re clearly eager to lend a hand,” Moira said. “The gardening shears and ladder are in the barn. Thank you.”

The sarcastic tone of her voice was uncalled for, Misty thought, but turned around to go outside nonetheless. 

The small barn was located on the other side of the manor from the kitchen backdoor, hidden from the driveway. There was no animal in there. Just some gardening tools and old forgotten furniture. Misty found the shears and ladder and with them slogged down to the driveway.

The naked branches of the trees swayed in the winter breeze, all the leaves having fallen off weeks earlier. What did Moira expect her to do with them? Still, Misty set up the ladder against one random tree, went up the unstable steps, and started to chop the tips of tiny branches within her reach bit by bit. Just enough to claim she had gotten the job done.   

After a while, her hands began to ache from the cold. She had nearly fallen off the ladder a couple of times, and there was one crow on a nearby branch staring at her. Her frustration intensified, boiling deep in her guts. This was ridiculous. She had no knowledge of pruning. This was nothing but a tepid scheme of Moira to keep her hands busy. 

She had more pressing issues to deal with.

Looking at the open shears, she imagined holding them against Fiona’s neck. _Chop_. A branch fell to the ground. 

Of course, Fiona deserved it, but did Misty have the ability to kill someone even if it was to save the love of her life? No, she didn’t think so. And no matter how strong Cordelia’s hatred towards her mother was, there must be some form of attachment between them still. If Misty indeed acted on her noble but murderous idea, perhaps she would be the next new villain in Cordelia’s story. It would be unbearable.  

From the top of the ladder, she looked at the manor, the one beautiful, unconquerable fortress. Was there really nothing she could do?

Then, the sky cleared up. The sun shone on the walls and reflected off the whiteness of them, blinding her for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she realized that the answer had been before her eyes this whole time.

…

On the night of visit, Misty snuck out of the room with Cordelia’s shoes in her hand. Moira's apron hung over the back of the chair between their beds, but Misty left it untouched. 

Going in the opposite direction of her usual path to the stairs, she went out the kitchen door to Cordelia’s window. The ladder was lying there on the ground, propped up against the wall horizontally without any evidence of attempts at keeping it from people's eyes. Misty set it up. It couldn’t quite reach the window, but she decided the gap looked small enough.

The journey upward was short at first glance. Once on the ladder, however, it proved to be a dangerous one. With Cordelia’s shoes in one hand, she had more difficulties in keeping balance than expected. It was just as hard to knock on the window as she stood on top of the ladder. She tried to gently let the shoes rub against the glass, but made a miscalculation and ended up banging them against it.

The curtains opened a crack, and then the window opened. Cordelia looked down at her with wide eyes.

That look alone filled Misty’s heart with pride. “Give me a hand here, princess?” She held out a hand after giving the shoes over. 

Cordelia struggled to pull her up, her nails digging into Misty's arm and shoulder. So light was her body that at one point, Misty feared she was going to lift her out of the window and take both of them down. But the only way was up. With her hands scraped and elbows bruised, she managed to climb in and pulled Cordelia into her embrace.

“I thought you wouldn't come,” Cordelia said. 

“Now, why would you think that? I promised I would, no?” Misty cupped her cheeks. “You've lost weight. I should've brought some food.”

“I'm not hungry.” Cordelia's eyes welled up. “I just want to disappear. I'm so tired.”

Misty tightened her embrace, kissing her temple. “None of that. I'm right here, okay?”

Cordelia nodded. She looked at her and then to the window. “How did you--?”

Moving to the window, they looked down at the ladder, which had fortunately survived the earlier commotion. 

“I found it in the barn,” Misty said. “We don’t need the key or anything any more. We have direct access to the outside.”

“I didn't know we had a barn.” 

“It’s right outside this room actually. You can see it from the tree.”

Cordelia stared out the window, her gaze absent and dull. The winter wind blew in, so Misty reached to close the window.

Cordelia’s hand stopped her. “Take me away,” she said.

“What?”

“Take me away from here, like you've always said you would. I can't spend another second in this awful place.”

Despite the initial bewilderment, Misty didn’t hesitate to smile and wipe her tears away. “Anything for my princess.”

They got to work quickly. There wasn’t much to take other than some of their favorite books, with letters from Misty tucked between the pages, and the bread and egg from the food tray Cordelia had left untouched. Misty wrapped them in a blanket to carry it on her back. A bag would’ve been nice, but it was one of the many things Fiona deemed unnecessary in the life of her daughter. 

Misty stood by the window and looked at Cordelia, bundled up in their favorite dress and a winter cloak. “Ready?”

With a timid nod, Cordelia came to her. Her shoulders were trembling.

Misty kissed the tremor away to the best of her ability. “I love you,” she said, and climbed down the unstable ladder first. 

To her relief, it was easier than going up. As her feet touched the ground, she looked up to find Cordelia sticking her upper body out the window. Her jaw looked tight as if she was going to be sick. 

“Don’t be scared,” Misty said. “I'm holding this. You just need to come down.”

“I don’t know if I could. Will you catch me if I fall?”

“Of course, but you won't fall. It's okay.”

After some more seconds of misgivings, Cordelia dangled her leg out at last. But she couldn’t seem to find the first step onto the ladder. The shadow of her dress obscured her feet, so Misty couldn’t give precise instructions, either.

“Lean out more, Delia. Turn around and come backwards like I did. You can do it. A little lower.” Each second brought Misty’s guts into the mouth. She wasn’t sure if Cordelia could hear her words.

Her foot landed on the ladder with a rather loud thump, and Misty prepared herself for a crash. Cordelia didn’t fall. Although, she very much could the next moment. Every step afterward took just as much time as the first one, accompanied by occasional scares. By the time she finally stood next to Misty on the ground, they were both out of breath. 

Misty let out a laugh of relief as she cupped her cheeks. “See? I told you it was fine. And I promise, the hardest part is over. You won’t have to do anything like this again.”

Cordelia seemed to be in a state of mild shock, but she gave a nod. 

“Can you walk?”

Another nod.

So, Misty led her by the hand around the manor and stopped before the kitchen backdoor. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.” 

The kitchen still smelled of the roasted chicken they’d had for dinner. She grabbed some food into the blanket bag, including a newly purchased block of cheese that Moira loved. It would break the woman’s heart in the morning, but Misty had to push the remorse aside for now. Her eyes landed on the wall by the door to the hallway, then. It seemed to be just darkness, but it was where the automobile key was hung. She snatched it from the wall and returned to Cordelia outside.   

"Where do we go now?" Cordelia said.

"To the town. Come with me"

They walked to the front of the manor, to the the vehicle. Misty guided Cordelia to sit on the passenger’s seat before sitting herself down behind the wheel. Without a pause, she inserted the key, turned the ignition, and hit the gas pedal. The engine roared into the stillness of the night. But by the time it disturbed Moira’s peaceful sleep, they would have been long gone. 

Misty had never driven so late at night. There was something unnerving about the way the headlights illuminated the road several meters ahead, while leaving the rest of the world in denser darkness. It felt as if the stars and the Moon had disappeared from the sky. Still, she went fast. 

"How long does it take to arrive in the town?" Cordelia said.

Until then, Misty hadn’t had mental room to check on her. Now, she realized Cordelia looked more pale than earlier.

"Two hours.” Misty allowed herself to slightly slow down. "Are you feeling sick?"

"Dizzy."

Releasing the gas pedal a little more, Misty getured at the blanket bag on Cordelia’s lap. “There's some bread in there. Eat. You'll feel better when your stomach is full."

Cordelia opened it with shaky hands. 

"I'm thinking,” Misty said, “we go to the town to get Hank first and then leave for elsewhere. So, whether we arrive there in two hours or four, we'll have to wait until the dawn. Do you want me to drive slowly or get it over with as quickly as possible?"

Her lips were starting to turn blue. The question seemed to go straight over her head as she brought a small piece of bread to her mouth. And in the next breath, she covered her mouth and gagged. Her hand weakly moved to tap on the door until Misty helped to open it. She leaned out and threw up.

The vehicle came to a full stop.

“Delia, are you okay?”

Heaving, Cordelia nodded with hollow eyes.

Misty’s concern grew into slight panic. She turned her head around to look behind, but saw no light coming after them. "Let’s take a break here, yeah?" 

She reclined the passenger’s seat and put her suit jacket over the freezing body of Cordelia. And after picking up the food and books that had flown out of her lap, she turned off the headlights. There was total darkness around them. 

Cordelia began to sob. “I’m sorry,” she said in a faint voice.

“No, it's my fault. I should've kept in mind that this was your first time riding an automobile.” 

The limp hand in Misty’s flinched. “What’s that sound? Are there wolves?”

Misty strained her ears. “I don’t hear anything. It’s probably the wind. You should sleep. When you wake up, we’ll be there.”

"Tell me a story."

Turning the headlights back on, Misty picked up one of the books.

"No,” Cordelia said. “Your story. My favorite one."

At that, Misty smiled. She then told a story of her childhood, when her mama was still alive. A memory of her birthday. They went on a picnic in a neighboring flower field without food. 

“We didn’t know what a picnic was exactly, so we just ended up walking around. Kyle made me a flower crown. I was too excited, jumping around, and dropped it somewhere on our way home. We were almost home, so we couldn’t go back to make another one. I cried and cried, until Ma and Kyle made me a crown with vines. But by that evening, we realized that it was poison ivy. Ma was so mad and blamed it on me.”

Cordelia let out a breathy chuckle. "And on that way home, you found the fang, too." 

“That’s right.” 

“Can I?”

Misty took the necklace off and put it around Cordelia’s neck. 

A small smile appeared across her lips as she examined it. "When you first told me this story, you said that Kyle even got the rash on his bottom.”

"I did?"

"Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember a lot of things that happened before you." 

Cordelia extended her hand to be held. "I wish I could’ve done a lot of things for your birthday." 

"You are with me every year. That's plenty."

"Can you ever forgive your uncle for selling you and your brother?"

They had talked about this topic before. But looking at Cordelia’s fluttering eyelids, Misty suspected that she might not be lucid at this point.

"He did what he had to do to survive,” Misty said. “He had his own kids to look after. Besides, I have found you because of his decision. I’m thankful."

“We should visit him someday.” Cordelia closed her eyes. “To thank him.”

Then, she fell asleep.

…

Misty started the engine again, driving slowly in order not to disturb Cordelia's sleep. Although it had never bothered Mabel before, the engine sounded too loud now. She would glance at her every other second. 

It looked like Cordelia was sound asleep for the first half an hour, but as the landscape in the headlights changed from a grove to a more open field, Cordelia began to groan. The sound grew louder as they went. Still, she continued to sleep.

Misty stopped the automobile. Debating whether or not to wake her up, she wiped the sweat from Cordelia’s forehead. She was burning up.

As though Misty’s touch aggravated it, the groans turned into whimpers, incoherent words spilling out. 

“Delia. Cordelia, wake up.” Misty shook her by the shoulder. 

But her eyes stayed closed, her brows furrowed. Her body was generating more heat than a few minutes ago.

Misty felt an overwhelming feeling of terror for her life. If her body temperature kept rising and never stabilized, Cordelia might burst into flames. Or, the more plausible was that she had contracted some grave illness that ate away at her. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Misty had heard about people in the town coming down with a common fever and dying the next day. Dying-- If she let it happen to Cordelia here, Misty could never forgive herself. 

Perhaps, it’d be best if they made a U-turn back to the manor. Moira would know what to do. But, would Cordelia want that? It must have been a desperate decision for her to finally put her lifelong wish into action and run away, and a chance like this would probably never come back.

Cordelia had asked to be taken away. So, Misty would see to it. She just wished to the Higher Being that it wouldn’t take Cordelia away from her. 

…

The sky was still dark, and the streets of the town were empty. Misty was thankful for it. Even if a pedestrian happened to step out in front of the vehicle now, it would be the least of her concerns. In fact, as the automobile skidded around the corner, something grazed the side of it. A fire hydrant or some kind of an object, she hoped, but didn’t stop to inspect the damage. 

Entering an residential district, she finally hit the brake in front of a house. She leapt out of the vehicle and banged hard on the door. In Misty’s ears, the knocking sound couldn’t be less quieter. 

After what felt like an eternity, the disgruntled face of Mrs. Renard appeared. 

“Please, help me.” Misty sobbed. “Cordelia is sick. She needs a doctor.”

“What-- Hank! It’s your sister!” 

“Mrs. Renard, please. Help me. She’s dying.”

Hank came rushing down the stairs. “Misty? What’s going on?”

“A doctor!” Misty said. “Cordelia needs a doctor, but I don’t know where to find him.”

Out onto the front steps, Hank looked at the automobile. “Is she in there?”

Misty nodded. 

“Okay, let’s take her to the doc.”

They jumped in, and Misty drove through the town in obedience to Hank’s navigation. At the same time, she rambled on about how they had escaped the manor, how in the middle of the road Cordelia had become ill. 

“I’m scared,” she said. “What if she dies because of me?”

From the backseat, Hank kept his hand on her shoulder. “She won’t leave you like this. You know that. Now, keep your eyes on the road.”

Shortly after, they arrived at the town doctor’s house. Hank dashed to the door, banging on it and shouting, while Misty lifted Cordelia out of the vehicle. She was so light in her arms, as though she was a life-size rag doll instead of a real human being. 

The doctor invited them in, and Misty lay Cordelia down on the bed as instructed. In the midst of the tumult, Cordelia still remained unconscious. Her sweating had stopped, but Misty couldn’t believe it was a good sign.  

With the burning hand in hers, Misty knelt by the bed. “Please. Please,” she kept saying to Cordelia, to the doctor, to the Higher Being. To their fate. 

She brought their foreheads together, her tears cascading down onto Cordelia’s face.

 _Help her. Burden me with all her pain so she could be free_ _._

Her own consciousness began to drift farther and farther away, her sobs distant in her ears. Then, absolute darkness took her in.

~END OF SECTION 2~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?? Let me know!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! after about 2 weeks, i present this action-packed chapter to you. some more announcements  
> 1) I'm writing a Gentleman Jack fic now along with this one. I'll try to juggle between the two, but the updates might become sporadic sometimes.  
> 2) i've created a ko-fi account! if you enjoy my work, please consider helping me stay caffeinated :)  
> https://ko-fi.com/mikafkagami0910
> 
> that's it. section 3 starts from here. get tissues ready and enjoy the ride!

The first thing Cordelia saw as she awoke was the familiar canopy of her bed. She lay still with fog wafting through her mind. But in an instant, it cleared away. This was wrong. She should be in the town with Misty. 

Was it all just a dream? She bounced out of the bed and looked around. The window was boarded with planks, only leaving enough space between the boards to open it for air. The door, too, was locked. No, it wasn’t a dream. They had escaped for real, and for an unknown reason, she had been brought back, more trapped than ever. 

She searched her memory. But all that came back to her mind was the nauseating drive to the town. She remembered dreaming. Some kind of immensity consuming her. And Misty’s voice calling out for her. 

Where was Misty now? Something terrible must have happened to her, misfortune that had snatched Cordelia out of her hands. It must’ve been her mother’s doing, which meant everything was out of the bag now. Nothing had worked out in their favor.

In hope of finding Misty under her window, she opened it and peered out of the gap. It was raining hard. Lightning flashed in the distant sky. Nobody was outside. There was only the pile of pebbles under the tree.

And at that moment, right in front of her eyes, lightning struck the tree. It rendered her blind and deaf for a brief second. When her sight recovered, the upper half of the tree was blown up into smithereens. What was left of the bark had a deep incision along the vertical line left by the previous lightning bolt many years ago. Amber flames wriggled and licked the inside of the bark. It was a brutal picture.

Across the room, she heard the click of the door. Moira walked in with a cloth in her hand. She let out a tiny yelp at the sight of Cordelia. 

“Oh-- Finally,” Moira said. “We thought you’d never wake up.”

“Where’s Misty?”

“You know, when Mrs. Goode came home with you two weeks ago, you were so sick I was frightened you’d never make it.” 

“I don’t care what--” Cordelia stopped. “What do you mean two weeks ago?”

“You’ve been unconscious all day and night. Something demonic was wreaking havoc inside your body.” 

But her answers only confused Cordelia even more. “Where’s Misty? I need to know she’s okay.”

Moira entered the bathroom, coming back with a basin. “Let’s get you clean. You’ll feel refreshed."

“No, I want Misty. Where is she?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know where she is. Mrs. Goode dismissed her.”

“Nonsense,” Cordelia said without missing a beat. “Misty would never leave me like that. Where's mother? Tell her I need to talk to her.”

“Well, she's not home at the moment. She had business of her own--"

A dry laugh fell from Cordelia’s lips. “How important did it have to be? Her only daughter was unconscious for two weeks!"

“Don’t be so harsh. She had her reasons.” 

“Reasons,” Cordelia said. “It’s incredulous. She doesn’t care but still wants to control me.”

Moira didn’t respond to it. Instead, she stared Cordelia straight in the eyes with her mouth agape. “My sweet heavens, come here, darling. Let me see your--" Leading Cordelia to stand by the window, she studied her face as if she had never seen it before. “At last, our prayers have been answered.” She quickly sobered up, then. “My, I must let Mrs. Goode know about this." Without a second to spare, she walked out of the room. 

The whole interaction left Cordelia with more questions. Outside the window, threads of smoke rose from the tree as the fire had died down.

Hopeless, she sat herself down at the writing desk. Then, her eyes landed on a letter with Misty’s handwriting placed on there. Quickly she opened it, hoping this would give her the explanation she needed or, better, Misty’s whereabouts. It was an old letter, however. They must have taken it out of the box under the bed. 

Still no clue. 

If only she could know Misty was safe. But with her mother as the executioner, every possible fear could very well come true. Her eyes welled up. She didn’t remember what her life was like before Misty, couldn’t fathom how it’d be without her.  

It felt like a huge thorn pierced her deep into the heart. Cordelia clutched her chest. There, her fingers found a slight bump under the nightgown. It was the fang necklace of Misty. How she had come to have it, she couldn’t recall.

And, something made a noise outside the window. It didn’t sound like thunder or rain, but rattled at a slow tempo instead. It sounded like-- Yes, it sounded just like when Misty was coming up the ladder. 

Cordelia rushed to push open the window as wide as possible. Although the planks prevented her from peering down right below, her hopes soared high within her.   


* * *

 

Misty woke up with the smell of mold wafting into her nose. She got up. The sky seemed relatively dark out the windows, but still bright to reveal her surroundings. 

She was inside a shabby house, lying in a makeshift bed on the floor. On the mantelpiece sat a picture in a poorly made frame. The late Mr. Renard. It was the house of Mrs. Renard and Hank. And in a single burst, everything came to memory. 

Disoriented, she searched around the house, shouting, but neither Cordelia nor Hank was there. She ran out into street and to the blacksmith’s shop. 

As it turned out, the murky sky was that of the dusk. The streets bustled with people heading home after work. Misty shouldered her way through them, sometimes feeling her legs get tangled.

Around the corner, something hard collided with her face, and she stumbled back. Someone yelled at her. 

With a hand on her head, she leaned against a shop’s window and tried to blink the vertigo away. Her reflection blinked back in the window glass. But something about it seemed off. Was it a trick of the light, or the aftershock of the collision, or did her eyes really look different? 

“Are you alright?” A woman offered her a hand. “I saw what happened--”

But the moment Misty turned her head, the woman screamed and scampered away. More pairs of eyes stared at her, whispers traveling through air. She looked back at her reflection.

Her eyes. They were really different, weren't they?

Under any other circumstances, she would've allowed room for a little panic, but there was no time for that now. By then, the pain in her head had eased. She took off again and raced all the way to the shop without a pause.

As she was about to rush in, a shadow appeared and slammed into her. It was the baker’s daughter.

“Oh, I beg your par--" The girl let out a yelp as their eyes locked. She then seemed to recognize Misty, but without her usual chat, scurried away. 

Misty entered the shop. 

“Misty, you are awake.” Hank came up to her.

“Where's Cordelia? Is she okay?"  
But like the baker’s daughter, he saw her face and staggered back. “Misty, your eyes--" 

“No, we can't-- Not now. What happened to Cordelia? Is she still at the doctor’s?” 

"Ah, well, no." 

“Where is she, then?"

Hesitation cast a cloud over his face, and Misty’s blood ran cold. So, the worst thing had happened. But she had to hear it, couldn’t let this suspense last for another second. 

Misty stepped closer. “Well?” 

The moment he finally opened his mouth, however, Mrs. Renard said,

“Not to cut your melodrama short, but those knives aren’t going to forge themselves, you know.”

Misty snapped her head around. “Can you not fucking shut your mouth for once?!" She turned back to him. “Hank, please. Tell me. She is okay, right?”

He lowered his eyes. “Her mother came to pick her up this afternoon. Said they were going to take care of her at the manor.”

Misty felt her field of vision narrow. “What? And you let that bitch take her?”

“What could I have done? She’s her mother.”

“You know very well she can’t go back there. You know that-- Oh, forget it.” She ran out of the shop, but soon circled back. “Where’s my automobile now?”

Hank said it was still on the doctor’s street, so Misty headed to that place. 

Her mind was in shambles. She couldn’t understand how this could’ve happened. When Cordelia had fallen ill, this wasn’t the type of worst case scenario Misty had in mind. But this wasn’t any better. It was her fault. How could she have fallen unconscious when Cordelia was fighting for her life? What if, at this very moment, her love was drawing her last breath, surrounded by the people who didn’t love her, wondering why Misty had abandoned her? 

In front of the doctor’s residence, the automobile was parked with one front tire up on the pavement. Kids and adolescents were taking advantage of the driver’s absence, leaving handprints all over it. Misty would usually let them, but now, she shooed them away like a swarm of bugs.

...

The automobile hurtled out of the town, through the fields, and into the grove. The sun had disappeared behind the ridge of the trees. The world again shrank to the narrow spot of light. The automobile approached the hill. Almost there.

But as Misty pressed on the gas pedal, it slowed down and eventually came to a full stop instead. The gas had run out. 

“No, no. What the--” 

She jumped out of the vehicle, circling around it. She was so close. From between the trees, she could see the white shadow of the manor glowing on top of the hill.

Fortunately, there was a familiar pathway that ran through the woods a little ahead. A shortcut that she and her brother used to use. Misty abandoned the automobile in the middle of the road and entered the woods. She used to get lost as a child there all the time. On that day when she escaped from the manor, too. The maze snatched Kyle out of her life back then. But never again. She would conquer it today, wouldn’t let it get in her way to Cordelia.

The journey turned out to be much quicker than she remembered. The village came into view after a while. She strode right through it. The several people outside dropped whatever they were doing to watch the strange young woman in men’s clothes cross their village after dawn. Misty heard someone call her name, but nobody’s voice except for Cordelia’s mattered in that moment. 

When she reached the bottom of the hill, Cordelia’s room had no light on. On closer look, however, it seemed like there was more to it than that. She searched for the ladder, which was not where she’d left it under the window, but back in the barn. With it set up against the wall, she ascended to the room. 

But what welcomed her was the locked window, barricaded from the inside. She tapped on the glass. No answer came. She knocked a few times more, each time more strongly, but the sound only echoed away into the night sky.  

So, sliding down the ladder, she went around the manor and entered the kitchen. Moira was at the sink. Her wide eyes locked with Misty’s for a brief moment. Misty ran past her and headed for the staircase.   

In the entrance hall, the silhouette of Fiona had just come down from upstairs and was headed to the front door. 

At the sound of Misty’s footsteps, the woman turned her head around. “Look, the rat is back again."

For the first time since leaving the automobile, Misty finally allowed herself to stop, standing just before the woman. “Is Cordelia okay? Did you have a doctor look at her?"

But Fiona, with an unconcealed curl of her upper lip, took a step back. “Have your eyes always been like that?” she said in a whisper.

“Let me see her.”

“Well, what are you going to do? Wake her up with your newfound fiendish powers?"

"Hasn't she woken up yet?” 

Fiona took a sharp breath out. "That's enough. Now that you're here, pack your stuff and leave. You will no longer be working here." She began to walk away. 

Misty stood in her way. “Where are you going? Your daughter is still sick.”  
“Move."

When Misty stayed put with her head high, Spalding appeared out of nowhere and reached to grab her. But the old man had grown frail over the years. After Misty shook him off once, he didn’t try to make another attempt.

In the meantime, Fiona passed by her. 

"Fine, then," Misty said to her back. "I mean, we all know you are the worst parent on earth anyway. But don't assume I'll ever leave without her. It doesn't matter how many locks you attach to the door. I will kick it down and save her as many times as I need to.”

From the door where she stood, Fiona slowly stalked back. Although shorter than Misty in height, the menace in her eyes made it look like a superlative advantage.

“I’ve had many ungrateful servants in this house, but I swear they are nothing compared to you. Why didn’t I let you starve to death a long time ago?”

“You think you kept me alive? No. I've kept myself alive in spite of you.”

"And you could keep Cordelia alive, too?” Fiona let out a despicable laugh. “Don't you know what happened? Or do you think it's a coincidence that she became ill the moment she got outside?"

That made Misty flinch a little. “What--”

“You seem to think you are some kind of a savior, but your stupid and reckless decision is what nearly killed her. Not the illness.”

“That’s not true--”

“Whatever do you know about the truth?”

Still, Misty shook her head, feeling heat between her eyes. “She'd been outside many times before that. It can't be the reason.”

It, however, proved to be the wrong kind of counterargument as a new flare of wrath flickered in Fiona’s eyes. “That explains it even more, doesn't it? All the negative energies from the outside have accumulated within her--" She stuck her shaking finger in Misty’s face. “Listen carefully, this house is not a prison for her, whether you or she agrees or not. You can't save a fish out of the water and give it a better life.”

There was nothing Misty could say. She didn’t want to admit Fiona was right, but it all made sense now. It was her fault. She was never the prince or the knight. It was her fault.

“Then," Misty said, her voice wavering, "let me stay with her here. I promise I'd never make the same mistake again.”

“That won't be enough. As long as you are in her life, she'd never stop lusting for freedom. And it will kill her one day.” 

"I can lock myself in this place just like her.”

“Oh, really? You can give up your friends in the town for her?"

“I can," Misty said. "I can, if you give me time to say goodbye to them.”

Fiona looked at her, as if actually contemplating the options, but shook her head. "With these eyes of yours, no. How many people in the town have seen your eyes? One? Ten? No idea at all?"

"I--”

“The number doesn’t matter. Rumors are fire. By the end of tomorrow, everyone in the town will have known about it, and it’s only a matter of time before they come here to hunt you, the witch. And try to think what happens afterwards.”

"But--"

“They’ll find her upstairs, with the same eyes as yours.” Looking Misty straight in the eyes, Fiona took one more step towards her. “Do you believe in mercy from the people who fear you?"

The image of the people holding knives at Cordelia flashed across her mind. She didn't want to think about it. “But, I’m not a witch.”

“Try telling them that.”

Misty glanced to the door over Fiona’s shoulder. There was no sign of intruders outside yet, but it could change any time soon. The people could appear out of thin air in this instant and destroy her life in a blink of an eye. 

“What should I do?” Her own voice didn't sound like hers.

“Leave this place,” Fiona said. “If you want to stay in the town, so be it. But see to it that people understand you have severed all your ties with this house.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the entrance hall. 

Until the sound of the engine faded away, Misty remained there with Fiona’s words bouncing around inside her head. She looked to the top of the stairs. But in the painful brightness of the truth, it terrified her to the core to even consider crossing the invisible border. 

She dragged her heavy feet, brushing by Moira, who was watching her from the mouth of the corridor. In the bedroom, there was a carpet bag placed on her bed. It didn’t belong to her. Moira must’ve put it.  

She didn’t own many things to pack. She put some clothes and, paying no heed to Moira in the doorway, unlocked her chest and took a pile of Cordelia’s letters out of it. All of her life, now stuffed in one bag no bigger than her torso. 

Then, to complete her parting, she picked up a book from her bed and handed it to Moira. “Return this in her bookshelf when you have a chance, please? Tell her I liked it, though I didn’t get to read the ending.”

Moira clutched the book to her chest as she stared into her eyes with curious hesitation. “You could stay the night. Mrs. Goode won’t be back for a while.”

“The sooner I leave, the better.”

“Our dear Cordelia might wake up tomorrow morning.”

At the name of her love, tears welled up without a warning. “But she might not. I don’t have time to hope for a _maybe_ anymore.”

Moira’s gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder. “I remember the day you came here,” she said. “You were a very, very difficult child to handle. Eyes sharp like an animal’s.” She let out a laugh, cupping her cheek. ”It was my fault that I tried to tame you.” 

This sudden gesture of affection puzzled and unnerved Misty. In order not to antagonize the servant, though, she gently moved her face and let the hand drop. 

“You still have the same eyes,” Moira said. “Strong but kind. I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

“I’m not a witch.”

“It doesn’t matter what you're. It’s what people think you are that matters.”

Before today, Misty would’ve had the absolute confidence to call it a travesty, something that only cowards believed. But these words now weighed a ton on her shoulders. 

“I have to go,” Misty said.

“Wait a moment. I have something I want to give you.” Moira walked to her writing desk.

But Misty grabbed the bag with her whole life in it. Without looking back or answering Moira’s calling, she walked out of the manor.

...

Down the hill, Misty trekked back to the village. 

Her thoughts churned in her empty stomach. She wanted to go to the town now, as soon as possible. But her legs would not stop tremble, knees almost buckling at each step forward. She might fall asleep while walking and wake up to animals nibbling on her flesh. Even in her desperation, that didn’t sound very tolerable. So, with her drifting consciousness, she decided to spend the night in the village. In a haystack or against a wall to block the night breeze, at least.

All the lights were out, the entire village barely visible in the dim moonlight. The place hadn’t changed at all. Not just the wretchedness of the houses, but also the smell of the cattle and the way the soil stuck to the soles of her shoes. Memory after memory came back in a flood, with the tides guiding her to the grave of her mom. The gravestone Misty had put for her was now gone, but the overwhelming fatigue kept her from entertaining any kind of emotion. All she could do was to acknowledge the fact.

Her old shack, to her apathetic amazement, still remained vacant with its door left ajar. Lying down on the dusty floor, she listened to the whistling of the drift. Her eyes closed. She could almost feel the warmth of her mom and brother on either side of her.

This house had watched her every time her loved ones disappeared from her life. Her ma, Kyle, and once more, Cordelia. She had always stared at the ceiling that looked too high for the house, crying for the love lost, the part of her soul-- If this was the rule of her life, then she wished to never come back another time.

She slipped out of the village at the first crow of a rooster before dawn and crossed the woods. As the sky grew brighter, she processed what had happened so far and pondered her next move. But her mind always found a way to circle back to Cordelia. 

What was the last thing that they said to each other? When was the last time Misty said she loved her? The fragments of her memory stabbed her in the chest. But strangely enough, no blood came out.

They could never see each other again, that was for sure. Their existence had to be erased from each other's life completely. For good. That realization gave her a heavy blow, and she stood in the path paralyzed inside out.

Still, she had to move forward. Hank was waiting for her.

…

It turned out that Fiona was wrong about the town people. She had said the time limit was the end of tomorrow, but everyone knew about Misty’s eyes already. It was only before noon. 

As soon as one of them spotted her, they began to shout and growl. One of them threw a rock at her, and children followed suit. Before Misty could react to the abuse, a rock hit her in the forehead. Warm blood gushed out, tainting her fingers that touched it, and ran down her eye and cheek. In shock, she heard them laugh and felt more rocks come raining. 

Fiona was wrong. They didn’t fear her, not in the slightest. Why would they, when they could kill her right here?

Despite the crippling fear, Misty willed her legs to move and took flight. Some people came after her. The scene attracted more attention, and by the time she rushed into the blacksmith’s shop, more than ten men were standing outside. 

Hank stopped his hammering. “Shit, Misty. What on earth--”

The people yelled. In respect for or in fear of Mrs. Renard, or whatever the reason, none of them dared to hurl rocks or enter. 

Still, Misty hid in the corner as her tears mixed with blood. 

Hank quickly shut the door. He then came to Misty and, with the towel around his neck, dabbed the blood off her face. “It's fine. It’s not very deep. Just a lot of blood, is all.”

Indeed, a half of the towel came out drenched in red. But maybe it was rather fortunate that she only had one injury, she thought. It could have resulted in a more severe incident. A murder case, very likely. 

Hank looked down at the bag at her feet. “What's this? What happened?”

Little by little, she found her voice and explained. Cordelia's unconscious state, the conversation with Frana, and why she could never see Cordelia. 

“She would forever hate me for leaving her. I broke our promise. But as long as it could keep her alive, I would tolerate anything. I would bleed more.” 

Hank offered her a clean cloth to wipe her tears away. “But I don’t get it,” he said. “Why did your eye change its color?”

Misty shrugged. 

“Do you feel any different, see different?”

“Everything is the same. I wouldn’t have no clue without a mirror.”

“What are you planning to do now?”

At this, her heart clenched in a mixture of surprise and betrayal. She had assumed that he would immediately offer to shelter her, and when it dawned on her how egoistical the assumption was, she felt ashamed of herself.

“I was thinking, maybe I could work here. I can read, so--”

“Not happening,” Mrs. Renard said from her chair. “Them eyes give me the heebie jeebies.”

“Come on, Mrs. Renard,” Hank said. “You said that kind of supernatural beliefs were for the high society people who had nothing better to do.”

“This ain’t about that. I’m talking about the shop’s reputation. Customers don’t like shops that harbor people like that.” 

“I can be your housekeeper, then,” Misty said. “I don’t need to get paid. All I want is--”

Mrs. Renard snickered. “Why would I bring a kindling coal in my own house? Even without them eyes, you were already a nuisance to a lot of folks.”

Disappointed and desperate, Misty looked at Hank, but only found the look of helplessness on his face. It wasn’t his fault, she knew. Nonetheless, it felt like she had nobody to rely on anymore, hemmed in by enemies. 

“What about the tailor?” Hank said to her. “He’s been good to you, right?”

Misty thought it was a good idea.

“He passed away,” Mrs. Renard said. “Now his son-in-law is in charge of the shop.”

Misty balked. “When did that happen?”

“Several weeks ago.” Mrs. Renard gave her a dirty look. “You don’t seem to understand. There’s no place for you in this town, no matter where you hide, even if you gouge your eyes out. You’re a witch, and that’s that.”

For some moments, stifling silence prevailed, only to be destroyed by the howls of the men outside. It sounded like more people had flocked around here now. Mrs. Renard clicked her tongue and glowered at her. 

Burying her face in hands, Misty sobbed. She didn’t know what else to do. Her world crumbled, and the little fragments of it slipped through her fingers together with her tears. 

Hank rested his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Misty.”

That was the final nail in the coffin of her hope. It meant she was truly on her own.

Loud bangs on the door made her flinch as coarse voices demanded the witch. They continued to bang and chant. “Burn the witch. Burn the witch.” Some of the voices sounded too high and sweet to belong to adults.

At last, Hank peeped out of the gap in the door. “She’s already left. Piss off.”

The mob asked where she’d gone, but Hank closed the door in their faces again.

“They better not ruin the door,” Mrs. Renard said.

Hank grabbed a hammer in one hand and a fire poker in the other. “They’re lingering,” he said. “I think it’s a chance. I can keep their attention while you escape through there.” He pointed the fire poker at the rarely-used backdoor.

But still curled up in a ball in the corner, Misty hesitated. “Do I really have to go now?”

He flashed a troubled look. “If you want to--”

“No, I know I have to. I’m sorry,” Misty said. 

Leaning against the wall for support, she stood on her trembling legs. The heaviness of her bag made her want to sob more. There was no time for that. She trudged to the backdoor and watched as Hank slid off the chains. 

The metallic sound reverberated in her head. She realized she really couldn’t stay here. 

He opened the door a crack. “There’s nobody out here. You should go now. Here, take these.” In his hands were flints.

Misty took them. “Can I ask you a favor?” 

“Anything.”

“Look after Cordelia for me, please. Be her friend. She needs someone that cares for her.”

“I will. I promise.”

“But don't tell her why I had to go. She will blame herself, and I can't have that.”

“I won't tell her.”

He pulled her into a hug, and Misty let out a sob, knowing this would be the last time she ever got to lean on his shoulder, to smell his sweaty body odor.

"It's going to be okay. You’re going to be okay," he said in the sweetest voice Misty had ever heard from him. 

In spite of the additional tears it invited, she held them in and forced a smile. She fiddled with his beards. His stupid mutton chops.

"So long, brother."

Hank returned the smile. "Take care, little one."

They shared a one last embrace. And while Hank went out the front door and kept the mob's attention, Misty slipped away.


	13. Chapter 13

Cordelia pressed her cheek harder into the planks in an effort to get a glimpse of the savior on the ladder. These boards must be removed. She pulled at one of them, but the nails held it well in place. 

A hand came and felt the planks from the outside, then. But no, it didn’t seem to belong to Misty, or any woman at all. To Cordelia’s horror and disappointment, a shadowy figure of a man hoisted itself up and poised on the frame of the window. He tried to smash the barricade with an elbow, first with tentative force, and then ramming his way through it with full force. 

As the man tumbled in with the wood chips and nails flying all over, Cordelia wobbled back. She grabbed the nearest object that she could use as a weapon. A fire poker.

Standing up, the man held his hands in the air. “Hey, don’t be alarmed.”

Even Cordelia knew that it was not the best way to open a conversation with a stranger right after breaking into her room. But she lowered the weapon anyway.

“Hank.”

It was the first time to see him in person. It felt as if she had seen him many times before, though, known him for many years now. In a sense, it was true. But the Hank in her imagination was bulkier in mass, like a bull, with longer and messier beards. The man standing before her didn’t quite match the description. 

“Hello, Cordelia.”

Despite that being all he said, she already felt fed up with him. “Couldn’t you have knocked on the door nicely like a civilized person instead of breaking my window frame?”

“Well, I did try, but the lady, Moira, wouldn't let me in. Then, I remembered Misty telling me about the ladder--”

“Misty?” Cordelia took steps closer. “Is she with you?”

His mouth opened, but no word came out. Something else seemed to distract him, then, something about her face. He stared at her.

The door opened. 

“Darling, what was that--” A distressed yelp fell from Moira’s lips at the sight of the mess on the floor. From the doorway, she threw a stern look at Hank. “Sir, I thought I firmly asked you to leave.”

“You did? Well, I'm deaf in this ear.” Hank pointed at his right ear.   


“ This is very inappropriate, breaking into a lady’s room without her permission.” Moira walked across the room, avoiding the disarray, and gripped him by the arm.

“Wait, let him stay,” Cordelia said. “He knows something about Misty.” She turned to him. “Don't you? Is she in the town?”

“I… I don't know how to explain it,” Hank said. “Something happened, and she had to leave the town--”   


“Something? What do you mean?”   


“She asked me not to tell you.”

“Where is she?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”   


“Is she hurt?”   


A shade of hesitation crept across his face. “I don't know.”

The answer opened an abyss under her feet that gaped for her. She looked at Moira, who also wore a look of pity. Cordelia didn’t know how to interpret it. 

Her head pounding, she slumped in the bed. Nothing made sense. It felt like the sole purpose of these two was to confuse her by flashing random pieces of information without context. Like flashing light from various directions in a dark labyrinth to disorient the viator, to give them a false sense of hope. 

“I need to go find her.” Cordelia stood on her wobbly legs and walked around.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Hank said.   


“You opinion is entirely uncalled-for. If you actually cared about her, you would’ve stopped her in the first place.”

“But that’s not what she wanted. She wanted--”

“Stop talking as if you know what she wants!” Her eyes filled with tears. “No one knows her better than I do. You are just a substitute for her brother!” 

Hank looked her square in the eye in silence, unblinking. 

And it unnerved Cordelia so much that she turned her back on him. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. She let it fall, for fear of showing her weakness to the stranger by raising her hand to wipe it away.

“Okay.” Hank let out a sigh. “I’ll see you again, some time next week, I suppose.”

Then, Moira ushered him out of the door.

When the door clicked shut, Cordelia dropped her facade and sobbed freely. How could this have happened? What did it mean that Misty could be in danger? It was Fiona’s fault, Moira’s fault, and Hank and everyone’s fault. 

But more than anybody, she blamed herself. 

She had heard Misty calling out to her in the darkness. But Cordelia had kept sleeping, failed to fight against the abyss harder, let Misty suffer all on her own. Perhaps, her love for Misty was not as strong as she had made herself believe. It must be so.

However, she soon realized she couldn’t continue crying like this. More than enough time had been wasted already. It was time to take action and atone for her weakness. And there was no better ways than to go with Hank. Right now.

“Wait!” She ran to the door.   


It was not locked. Without a hint of hesitation, she stepped out into the bright hallway. This familiar part of the house at night looked very different in the daylight. No monstrosity. No menace in these walls. Nothing more than an extension of the house much like her bedroom. 

Slightly disoriented, she made it to the landing.

Hank still lingered at the front door, talking with Moira. Their voices echoed in the vast structure of the foyer and reached Cordelia's ears.

“How much does she know?” he said.

“Why is it any of your concerns, sir?”

“Because she's my responsibility now. Because nobody here gives a shit about her."

“That's an outrageous accusation," Moira said.   


“No, what's outrageous is that you people continue to keep her locked up like an animal when she no longer has a reason to be.” His eyes then spotted Cordelia, as she now stood at the bottom of the stairs.   


Moira, too, turned around. "Darling, go back to your room.”   


Still, with her eyes on Hank, Cordelia took a step forward. “I need you to take me to the town."   


“Really,” Moira said, ”you young people are making it so hard for me." She strode to Cordelia and grabbed her by the arm.   


"Let me go. I need to go." Cordelia twisted her body.   


And in the process of shaking Moira off, her eyes locked with the ones in the mirror on the wall. The face in the reflection seemed nothing but foreign for a couple of seconds. But it looked back at her, in silence. Moira touched the arm of the woman in the mirror, and Cordelia felt warmth on her own skin. It was her reflection. Her face.

Two brown eyes stared back.

…

In shock, Cordelia ran back to her bedroom. But all she saw, instead of the scattered wooden pieces on the floor, was the eyes, still looking back, the intensity of them boring a hole in her face. Those were her eyes. Brown. Both of them. It couldn’t have been a chance effect of light. 

But it didn’t add up. Her eyes were supposed to be of different colors. It was exactly why Fiona had been keeping her locked away her entire life. It was exactly what made her a witch. 

Had it been a lie? No, Misty had confirmed the fact on more than one occasion and never mentioned any noticeable change. Then--  

Then, whatever on earth could explain this?

Moira slowly entered the room. With a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder, she levelled her eyes--one clouded--at her. 

“What is happening?” Cordelia said.

“I don’t know, darling. We didn’t notice anything while you were asleep.”

“My eyes-- They used to be of different colors before, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Does this mean I’m no longer a witch?”

Moira paused to muse. Her grimace turned into a forced smile, then. “I’m sending for your mother. She will decide what to do when she sees them herself.”

As the words sank in, Cordelia regained her composure. “No, there's no time to waste. Misty-- I need to go now.” 

“How do you plan to do that? That man has left.”

“What?”

“Perhaps, if you talk to your mother, she will give you a lift.”

A laugh fell from Cordelia's lips. “And what if she doesn't? What if she decides to keep everything the same as before? I'm tired of my life being dictated by her.”   


“She does it all for love.”   


“Then, she should understand why I'm making this choice.”   


Scurring around the room, Cordelia found the blanket bag, from the night of the escape, on the armchair by the closet. It was opened, but the items still remained there. She tied it closed and looked around. 

On her writing desk, the old letter from Misty waited to be picked up. 

“Your mother ordered Spalding to burn all the letters,” Moira said. “I only managed to save one for you. I wish I could've done better.”

“No. Thank you.” Cordelia put it under her dress, just over her chest. Despite the thinness of it, her heart felt impenetrable under the protection of the sheet of paper.      


“So, there's nothing I can say to stop you?”   


Cordelia shook her head.

Moira let out a sigh. “Alright, then. Come with me.”   


With the blanket bag in her hands, Cordelia followed her down the stairs, walked past the mirror, and entered the shared bedroom of Misty and Moira. She had never seen the inside, always tiptoeing by it at night. It was a small room. At first glance, Cordelia couldn’t tell which side of the place belonged to Misty. But there was a tiny pot on the sill of the window closer to the door, and she knew it had seeds for the birds in it.

Moira took a frayed bag and boots out of the closet and gave them to Cordelia. “Your shoes were thrown out. These are the ones Misty used to wear as a child. They should fit just fine.”

Cordelia changed out of her slippers into them. Some buttons on them were missing, and the left shoe had a hole in the leather at the big toe. They turned out to be still a little too big for her feet. She put her slippers and transferred the contents of the blanket bag into the proper one. 

Running her hand across Misty’s bed, she then moved to scan her drawers in search of some kind of a memento and found the white lace ribbon. After all these years, the whiteness of it had discolored, dust woven into the waves of the lace. Cordelia put it between the two-fold letter from Misty and put them back under the dress.   


As Moira came to stand beside her, she handed Cordelia a metallic sack. Something inside it, landing on her palm, jiggled with a clink. “I meant to give this to Misty. She didn't wait for me."   


Cordelia looked inside. "Money?"   


“I've been saving, thinking a day like this would come one day. I don't know what kind of future I had imagined for both of you, but I knew it'd come. It's not much. But I hope it would help."

Speechless, Cordelia gawked at her and the coin sack back and forth. “You knew about us?”

Moira laughed. “For a long time, yes. It was hard not to. You two are not as elusive as you think. Especially her. That girl doesn't have to open her mouth to reveal a secret.” Her chuckle turned into a smile.

But Cordelia still felt horrified. “Does Fiona know?”   


“Oh, no. Of course, not,” Moira said. “But Spalding did, I believe. He’s mute, not blind.”   


“Why didn't you tell Fraca?”   


Moira’s gave a more serious smile. “I wanted to give you two the happiness you deserved as much as I could. Although, I find myself wondering since Misty’s departure if I could’ve done this any better.” 

Moira’s lip quivered as she smiled, and Cordelia hoped she wouldn’t cry. As familiar as she was to her own tears, she wouldn’t know what to do with someone else's. But instead, the old servant wrapped her arms around Cordelia in a tight hug. The first and last they ever shared.    


“Stay safe,” Moira said, “and save Misty.”   


…

On top of the hill, Cordelia stood in the drizzle and felt the soft pitter patter of raindrops on her umbrella. She held her hand out. The rain puddled in her palm, dampening her sleeve. She slowly lowered the umbrella, then. The rain showered down on her face, tapping on her skin. She was part of it, at last. The picture in the window frame, now limitless.  


A rush of air blew and grazed her cheeks. It carried the smell of the burned wood to her. She walked up to the destroyed tree, where the shreds of the bark had flown across a wider area than she had imagined. She did feel sorry for it. It was the only thing, besidese Misty, that had been constant in her life.

On the bark at her waist level, the old carvings of her and Misty’s names had survived the attack of the lightning. After all these years, her name was still unfinished. Forgotten, sure, but intact. That had to be enough for her.

One last look at the manor, at her own window, and she took off. 

Moira had given her directions to the town. But since it was Cordelia’s first time on her own outside the property, they had both agreed that it’d be a better idea to go to the village--Misty’s village--first. From there, people should be kind enough to give her a lift. 

The path to the village turned out to be longer than her initial estimate. From what Misty had told her, it should have been an easy enough walk even for kids. It wasn’t-- Or perhaps, it was simply that Cordelia lacked a proper sense of distance and physical endurance. By the time the village came into view, her feet had become almost torpid from pain.

At the sound of children’s laughter, however, her visceral fears stirred. What if they saw her and still saw a witch in her? It hadn’t occurred to her until now. Turning around, she looked at the manor from between the branches. It seemed small. So small she could crush it in her fist.

The only way was forward, she knew. There was nothing in the world she should fear other than the future without Misty . 

The village lacked in colorfulness in many ways, but it still rendered her bewildered with its vigor. The rich smell of cooking in the air. Small bare-footed children running around. The soft soil under her feet. Slowly, the people began to notice her presence. Before she managed to lower her gaze, her eyes met with a young man’s. He rushed into a house, and another older man stepped out soon after. The two of them examined her from head to toe. 

“Can we help you, miss?” the older man said.

Cordelia recoiled. “I'm-- Can any of you take me to the town? Anyone with an automobile?” 

The men looked at each other. 

“An automobile?” The older man let out a laugh. “Miss, I hate to be rude, but are you here to make fun of us folks?”

“No, I’m not-- I only ask for a means to go to the town. Surely, you have something?”

“We have asses, we do. They're now coming back now.”

“We could go, then, when they return, couldn’t we?” She had no idea what an ass was, but opted not to bother them with more questions.   


“Nah, we're done for the day.”

“No, it has to be now. There--”

“No can do,” the older man said. “Unless the sky is on fire or something, we don't change nothing.” He went back in, and the young man followed him inside.    


It didn’t make her falter in her determination, though. If anything, it was a small victory that they regarded her without any animosity. 

She went from door to door, asking them the same favor. And as more people returned from the town, she talked to each of them as well. But their answer was always the same. Refusal and apologies. Everyone returned home, leaving Cordelia alone in the rain. 

Another day wasted. At this rate, Misty could soon be on the other side of the world.     


Her spirit deflated, she carried herself to the graveyard behind Misty’s old shack. It was nothing more than a dark patch of land with tiny stones and sticks here and there. She searched for Misty’s mother’s grave. There was no stone that resembled a turtle. She sat against the wall of the shack and overlooked the graveyard in dismay.

The whole village felt familiar as if she had come here many times in her dreams, and yet, she was a complete stranger here.  

“I'm scared, mom,” Cordelia said. “What if I could never find her? What if I could never see her again?" Tears well up, but she held them in. If Misty’s mother saw her cry, she might consider Cordelia too weak to deserve her daughter. 

_ Save Misty _ , Moira had said. Yes, she had to stay strong-- But in retrospect, what had she meant by that? Not find her, but  _ save _ her. Hank had also said something about the possible danger. 

“Mom, please protect her. Even if I could never see her again, all I want is for her to be safe." She took the fang necklace out from under the dress. She  pressed her lips against it.  

"There you are."   


Cordelia's head snapped up, and she saw the young man from earlier holding a lamp. 

“It’s raining out here,” he said. “Why don’t you come to our house? We got bread and soup.” He came closer. And stopped. The dim light illuminated the necklace in her hands. "Where'd you get that? That's Kyle’s, isn’t it?"

"I-- No, it was Misty’s for a long time."

“Misty?” His tone of voice changed. “You know the witch?”

And everything--the curl of his lip, the disdain in his eyes and voice--ignited something inside her in that moment. 

"She's not a witch.” Cordelia stood up. “How dare you say her name like that with your filthy mouth, imbecile." 

With eyes widened, he stumbled back. “I just said--”

“Do not ever utter her name. None of you ever deserve the privilege of having her name on your lips.”

“Who are you? What do you want?"   


Cordelia looked him straight in the eyes. “I'm the witch. I’m the ghost from the manor on the hill. And if you don't take me to the town this instant, I shall put a great curse on this whole village that none of you could ever escape in this life or the next one."

The lies and ire flowed out of her like a newly-found fountain. And it would’ve inundated her with shame if the young man hadn’t obeyed with a tremor in his voice. 

Shortly after, they set off on a carriage drawn by donkeys-- They were the asses, as it turned out. Very slow ones at that. Cordelia sat next to the young man, staring at the animals’ rear ends. Had her feet not throbbed so much, had the ground not been so muddy, Cordelia could’ve proceeded faster on foot. 

"Can't you go faster?" she said to the young man. "I'm not going to the town for a casual walk."

He shrank back. "What did you expect? They aren’t magical donkeys.” He then turned his head to the other side and whispered, “Not like I’m getting paid for this anyway.”

But Cordelia heard it clearly. It was greedy of him, in her opinion, to expect his kindness to be reciprocated in such a way. But on second thought, she pulled one coin out of her coin sack and flashed it under his nose. 

“Will this be enough to motivate you and your donkeys?”

Taking the coin, he examined it with an indecipherable expression. Although Cordelia thought he would ask for more, he put it in his pocket instead and shouted at the donkeys, giving them a kick each. The carriage moved slightly faster. 

It wasn’t her intention to be the cause of such abuse against the animals. But as the young man kicked them once in a while to quicken the journey, Cordelia found herself trying her hardest to ignore the guilt. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? comments? let me know and make me happy ;)


	14. Chapter 14

The household light irradiated the town streets as it streamed from the windows. The sky was covered by a sheet of fog. Even in the distant streets, the lights twinkled like fireflies in the now calming rain.

Despite the circumstances, Cordelia felt her heart almost burst in exhilaration. Everything was in front of her, not as colorful words on the pages, but as a solid reality. Unlike the village, the town smelled of something sticker. The stores were closed for the night, but their goods were still on display inside the windows. And so many people! They ambled down the street, their laughter bouncing off the walls as the threads of their pipe smoke rose to the sky. 

The carriage stopped in a populated area, where flocks of poorly-dressed people were eating and chatting on the pavement. 

“Well, here we are. The town,” the young man said.

Cordelia looked about. “Take me to the blacksmith.”

“I don't know where it is. I swear.”

“Then, go find someone who does.”

Grumbling under his breath, the young man got off the carriage and began talking to the people.

Cordelia looked around again. A figure in the distance caught her eye. The sloping shoulders, the top hat, the gait. Even as a speck in the crowd, the presence of the figure exuded an aura that had Cordelia's heart racing. 

She jumped off the carriage. “Misty! Wait!”

It was not sheer luck. She knew she could find her anywhere no matter what. Their hearts were connected by an unbreakable string, always pulling them back closer. Even in the ocean, even in the middle of the desert, nothing could keep them apart.

“Misty!”

As she ran up the street, the other people turned their heads around to see her. And so Misty did. Stopped and turned around, sharp eyes looking back-- It wasn’t Misty. Only a man with similar blond curls as hers. 

Cordelia stopped dead in her tracks before the man. The world began to spin. Leaning against the wall, she coughed the bloody taste out of her lungs. 

The man with blond curls put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright, miss? Do you need something to drink?”

“No, I'm fine-- Actually, yes. A glass of water will be great.”

The man spoke with someone else, but the only thing that occupied Cordelia's mind was Misty, and the pain of her crushed hope. How could she have possibly mistaken her for such an ordinary man?

“Here, love.” The man gave her a glass.

Blindly, Cordelia brought it to her lips and took a huge gulp, almost spitting it out at the bitter taste. But she forced herself to swallow. Her stomach churned as it burned the inner walls of her throat. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” the man with blond curls said.

“This is not water.”

“No, but beer is always better than water. Are you feeling better now?”

Never in her life had she tasted anything so vile. Water and this abomination of a liquid were by no means interchangeable.

“I’m-- Yes. Thank you.”

With his hand on her lower back, the man with blond curls helped her regain balance. “You still do look rather pale. Anything else I could do for you?”

“I'm looking for the blacksmith’s shop. There's someone I have to see. Do you know Misty? She wears a suit like yours and has hair like yours.”

He seemed to contemplate. “No, I'm new in this town.”

“Oh-- Okay. I understand.” She thanked him for the last time before wobbling back the way she had come. 

The man with blond curls followed her. “I don't know where the shop is, but I know someone who is very good at finding people. One of the best fortune tellers in the town-- No, in the country. Why don't you come with me?”

“That's very kind of you, but I have a carriage waiting for me--”

But the carriage in question was not where she had left it. No sign of the donkeys or that young village man in the streets. Only her bag sat sidedway on the pavement. The poorly-dressed people were inching closer to examine it. Cordelia ran to clutch it to her chest.

“What's the matter, my beloved?” the young man said. “Have you changed your mind?”

Although his way of speaking seemed peculiar, Cordelia left it unquestioned. “I need a lift. Can you help me?”

“Well, why don't we walk? It's a lovely evening, don't you think so? Look, the rain has stopped for you, for us!” With gentle yet insistent grip, he pried the bag out of her hands and locked their arms.

As he pulled at her, Cordelia threw a glance to the streets. But seeing no horse-drawn carriage or automobile, she let him lead her in concession. 

Someone called her name, then.

It was Hank, walking towards them. 

“Hank, I’ve been looking for you.” Cordelia freed herself from the young man and met Hank halfway.

“What are you doing here? Are you alone?” Hank said.

“No, the lady’s with me.” The young man with blond curls stood close to her again. 

“I need to go after Misty,” Cordelia said. “Tell me where she went.”

“I told you I don't know,” Hank said. He cast a dubious eye at the other man. “Who is he?”

Letting out a breathy laugh, the man with blond curls re-locked his arm with Cordelia’s. “It's a rather crude question, mister, don’t you think?”

“He's going to help me find Misty,” she said to Hank, then turned to the man with blond curls. “I fear I don't have much money.”

“I'm sure we can come up with another solution, darling,” he said. “Fortunately, financial problems are not something I occupy myself with. Shall we go now?” He made both of them turn around.

But Hank put a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “Hang on, you're not going anywhere with him.”

“You said you didn’t know where Misty was,” she said.

“Yes, but--”

“Then, you cannot tell me what to do.”

“The lady is right, as she always is,” the young man said before resuming the walk.

Still, after a couple of steps, Hank rushed to stand in their way. “Wait, I actually know where she went. Misty asked me not to tell you, but I know.”

“It’s very unseemly of you.” The young man said. “Learn the virtue of knowing where to draw the line.”

“Do you really know where she is?” Cordelia said.

Hank nodded. “I do. Come with me, and I'll tell you.”

So, disregarding the protest from the young man, Cordelia took her bag back and left with Hank. He led her by the arm across the street, glancing behind their back every so often. Cordelia, too, did the same once. The young man with blond curls was nowhere to be seen. Only then, Hank stopped. 

“Good,” he said. “I thought he’d follow us forever.”

“So, where is she?”

“Huh? Oh-- I don't know.” There was no hint of guilt in his voice.

“What? You told me you knew!"

“Because you wouldn't listen to me. That bloke is a fraud. A trickster.”

“How could you know that?”

“I know a fraud when I see one. Do you even know where he was taking you?”

“To his friend who could help me.”

Hank snickered. “No, he had no intention of helping you. You were just his easy prey.”

“Maybe in your despicable world, everyone has to have an ulterior motive, but there are people who genuinely help others as morals dictate."

“Not him. He was going to take you to somewhere shabby, a brothel at best."

Heat crept up her neck at the suggestion. "You know what? You're exactly how Misty described you. Profane, parochial, and absolutely indecorous.”

“If you want to insult me, use words that I understand.”

“Stay away from me. I don't need your help.” Turning on her heel, Cordelia walked off.  

No particular destination in mind, though. Anywhere without Hank would be satisfactory for now. She considered finding the young man with blond curls again for a moment, but decided against it. Not because of Hank’s incredulous accusations, of course. There were other reasons. She found it irksome that the man had insisted on keeping their arms locked anyhow. She was going to ask around. 

Much to her annoyance, Hank was still tailing her like a mindless duckling. But Cordelia ignored him and talked to other people on the streets.

“Hello, I’m looking for someone called Misty. Do you know anything about her whereabouts?”

An unenthusiastic head shake was always the answer. It was expected. But when Cordelia added the most unique characteristic of Misty--a girl in men’s clothes--to the inquiry, their attitude switched from unenthusiastic to vicious in a flash. It terrified and confused her. Misty had never mentioned that her fashion preference incited such a strong reaction in the town.

After a handful of people, Cordelia gave up talking to them, too repulsed by their hatred.

Her attention then shifted to the street sellers. Some stood with a wheelbarrow, other sat on the ground with baskets. The white steam rising from the bowls in the people’s hands reminded her of her own hunger. Although whatever that hot meal was intrigued her, the seller was a crude-looking man. Cordelia didn’t feel certain about him. So, she went to a female seller with all the kinds of fruit she had never seen.

The seller greeted her, flashing a toothless smile.

Cordelia averted her eyes from the woman’s mouth. “Hello. Yes, tell me, what is this fruit called?” She pointed at a pink round thing. 

“You never seen a peach before?”

“Peach, of course.” Cordelia forced a smile. “I would like one of these, please.”

The seller held out a hand. “Two.”

After a pause, it dawned on her that a monetary exchange was expected. She took out her coin sack, but peering into it, she had no clue which ones to give. Eventually, she picked two medium-sized coins.

“Will this be enough?”

The smile of the seller fell, replaced by a peculiar expression. The same one on the face of the young village man. The seller reached out for the coins. But in the moment, another hand came in and caught Cordelia’s wrist.

"Hold on--" Hank said and shot an exaggerated smile at the seller. “She didn't mean to give them to you, of course, Mrs. Chattoway. She's a bit blind.”

With her mouth agape, Cordelia watched him take four smaller coins out of the sack, pay the seller, and take two peaches. Biding the seller goodbye, he walked off as if it was the most natural thing to do.

Cordelia trod after him. "Excuse me. Did you just take my money?”

Hank handed her one peach while sinking his teeth into the other. “Come on, you were going to pay her twenty without knowing. I just saved you.”

In the back of her mind, she remembered about the similar medium-sized coin she had given the village man earlier. Had that been overpayment? But she opted not to tell this fool anything about it.

“So what?” she said instead. “I still have a lot of money.”

Hank let out a sigh. “You really don't know anything. It's embarrassing.”

Cordelia stood in his way and glared at him. “No, what’s embarrassing is that you have to follow me around like some kind of a parasite. And I especially don't like that you seem to think I'm a woman and thus need assistance from a man such as yourself."

"I'm not protecting you because you're a woman. It's because Misty asked me to."

“Well, she's not here thanks to you. So, why don't you just drop your facade and leave me be?”

Without letting him speak further, Cordelia turned around and headed in the opposite direction from him. Thankfully, he didn’t have the audacity to follow her this time.

She looked down at the peach in her hand. It felt fuzzy and squishy. And pink, unlike the black-and-white book illustration. She looked around for a place to sit and eat in private. Eating while standing was for the barbarians, and the idea of strangers seeing her eat made her queasy. 

There was a satisfactory place in an alley, hidden from the main street. Sitting down, Cordelia felt her entire body ready to crumble to the ground. If it wasn’t for the thought of Misty, she would have allowed herself to fall into week-long sleep again. 

As she took a bite out of the fruit, the sour-sweet taste spread in her mouth. It was filled with juice, despite its resemblance to an apple, and some of it dripped from the side of her mouth.

It was when an old man came to sit next to her. He beamed at her, his two remaining teeth yellow and brown. Like a goblin. His lips moved to utter something incomprehensive.

Cordelia made an attempt at a polite smile. “I'm sorry. I didn't get that.”

His dirty finger pointed at a bracelet on her wrist. He said something again, and Cordelia thought she’d heard the word 'pretty.'

"Oh, thank you. My servant said I could sell this for a good price."

Smiling from ear to ear, he caressed the bracelet as if it was his grandchild. The next moment, he ripped it off her wrist and fled at high speed.

"Wait, no!” 

Cordelia tried to chase him. But the moment she stood up, a static haze engulfed her head. She plopped back down, burying her face between her knees. The laughter of the old man echoed in the depth of the alley. And then, nothing. Only the sound of a waterdrop falling into a puddle. As the haze cleared up, she saw the peach dropped to the ground, creating ripples in the muddy puddle. 

She wanted to cry. It had been going so well until she reached the town, and then everything was spiraling out of control. People were cruel. She turned out to be not so smart and self-reliable as she’d believed. And it was only her first day.

Perhaps, after all, she really did belong in the manor, forever kept in the prison. 

Footsteps approached and stopped before her. 

“Here you are,” Hank said. His brows came down as Cordelia looked up. “What happened?”

Not a drop of energy was left in her to utter a word.

Hank picked up the peach from the puddle. “You dropped it. Don't worry. You just have to rinse it, is all. So-- I found someone who has seen Misty leave the town.”

Her head shot up. “Really? Which way did she go?”

“They saw her running towards the ruin of the holy house on the outskirts of the town."

“Perhaps she's staying there.” Cordelia stood up. “Show me the way.”

Hank shook his head. “I doubt it. It's too close to the town to be a hideout. And even if she was there, it's dark. People don't go outside the town at night.”

“I don't live here. I don't have to obey your rules.”

“It's because there could be dangerous animals or bandits. Come on. I'll take you to my home. There’s more food.”

With all of its remaining energy, her body screamed for food and a good night's rest. “Is it safe for her, then, if she’s hiding in the holy house?”

“Yes. Now, come on.”

At last, Cordelia dragged her feet and followed him, cursing the feeble vessel of a body that had dominance over her spirit. 

...

As soon as they stepped into the house, a woman's roars welcomed Hank back.

“Where on earth have you been? How far did you have to go to buy a single bottle of beer?" The woman brandished a ladle.

Stout, loud, and aggressive. It took little time for Cordelia to presume it was Mrs. Renard.

“Oh, shit. I totally forgot about that,” Hank said.

“What!” She looked ready to strike him with the ladle, but then frowned at Cordelia behind him. “Who’s she?”

“This is Cordelia,” Hank said. “You know, from Misty’s--”

“Ha!” And this was all Mrs. Renard said to that. Casting squinted eyes at Cordelia, she returned to work at the kitchen. 

During the meal, too, Mrs. Renard continued her boorish treatment of Cordelia. Staring at her like a curiosity freak across the table. Asking questions about her, but only referring to Hank as if Cordelia herself couldn’t speak. Every now and then, she would also let out an annoying high-pitched sound as interjections. Ha! and Huh! and sometimes, Hmmm.

With all of it combined with what Misty had told her, Cordelia could not help the feelings of disdain and repulsion towards the woman. The fact that she was the owner of the house, and therefore the provider of food and shelter, did not fall between the cracks. But if given a choice, Cordelia would stay as far away from her as possible. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

Mrs. Renard pointed a spoon at her. “Isn't she supposed to have eyes of different colors?” she said to Hank. “What's wrong with her?”

Hank glanced at Cordelia. “We don’t really know.”

“Hmm. It’s going to be huge disappointment for everyone. That arrogant woman's daughter turns out to be normal. What a killjoy.”

Fed up as she felt, Cordelia could not let this one slide. "How can they have any kind of expectations? Do they know about me?”

"Why not?” she said.

“I’m supposed to be a secret.”

Mrs. Renard chortled. “Every one of the town folks knows about you, well-- Of you, anyway.”

Hank looked at the woman. “Isn't it because you told everyone about her even though Misty asked you not to?"

"No. Even before that. Everyone knew that wench was hiding a daughter in that manor, buying children’s books and ordering dresses and all. She likes to think we are too dumb, but nah. She’s just playing herself."

Cordelia should not find this news delightful by any means. If they had truly known what she was--what she used to be, they could have come and caused her serious harm. But at the same time, she found herself feeling gratified that Fiona’s decades-long struggles had been all for naught. What a pathetic life to have. What a fitting life for the woman. 

After the supper, Mrs. Renard smoked her pipe. When she went upstairs, Hank set up a makeshift bed for Cordelia by the fireplace. Just a thin mat directly placed on the dirty floor, frayed blankets, and a pillow that looked like a potato sack. A bed was too fancy a description. It was a nest. Although Cordelia hadn’t expected anything of luxury, this was a whole new level of humility. 

Hank caught her scowling. “You don't want to sleep in my bed, do you?”

His bed! As if this nest wasn’t already revolting enough.

“I haven’t said anything. This is good,” Cordelia said. She pat the mat and blankets in possibly pointless effort to remove any dust or bugs.

“So, are you really going after her?” he said.

“What a futile question.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe she doesn't want you to?”

She glared up at him. “Whatever she told you--and I don't know what it is because you refuse to relay it to me--is untrue. Misty would never leave my side of her own volition.”

“That's the point. What if she didn't have a choice?”

“I don't have any other choice, either. She's my entire life.” 

That seemed to render him speechless for a moment. Still, he struggled to accept it, growing frustrated as he searched for words. 

“Don't overthink,” she said. “Your brain is clearly not used to it anyway. When tomorrow comes, I'll be out of your face, and you can carry on with your poor life like before.” She took her nightgown out of the bag.

Hank let out a dry laugh. “You don't think you're going by yourself? No way. You don't even know how to walk around the town. You won't last a day out there.”

“And with you, I would? Please, I'll be sick of you to death by the end of tomorrow.” Cordelia made a grand gesture at the nightgown in her hands. “Do you mind?”

Hank put his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Goodnight.” And at last, he retired upstairs.

Changing into the nightgown on her own, Cordelia lay in the nest. Her cheek prickled against the pillow. The dust ingrained in the fabrics irritated her lungs at every breath. In spite of her unbearable exhaustion, the mercy of sleep didn’t come to her right away. 

There were too many noises. People’s voices from the streets, the windows creaking in the wind. The fire died out, and the snoring of Mrs. Renard shook the walls. It sounded like a bug was munching on something in the kitchen, too. How on earth could people ever achieve a good night’s sleep like this?

She curled up in a ball and began to cry in silence. All the failures of today flooding her eyes. And at the thought of Misty sleeping in a worse place than this, she sobbed even harder.   
...

The morning came in a blink of an eye like punishment.

The quaking footsteps of Mrs. Renard woke Cordelia up the moment she began to drift asleep. For a moment, she remained in the blissful realm between sleep and the reality.

Then, Misty’s face became clear in her mind. She forced herself to get up.

Hank served her eggs and bread, but her stomach felt already full with anxiety.

“You have a long way ahead of you. Got to eat,” he said.

So, she did, though not without slight exasperation at having to hear his voice first thing in the morning.

Mrs. Renard stomped to the door. “Make sure to do the dishes before coming to work,” she said to Hank.

“Yeah, I will see her off to the edge of the town.” He gestured to Cordelia. 

“Whatever you wish. Just don't take too much time."

And while Cordelia debated whether or not to thank her for her hospitality, Mrs. Renard was gone. Hank then went upstairs, came back down with a bag, and did the dishes as told.

“Are you ready?” he said, picking up both his and her bags.

“Are you really coming with me?”

“I told you, I'm not letting you go alone.”

“What about Mrs. Renard? You haven't told her, have you?”

“I already know the answer. This is the best way.” He showed no sign of hesitation, leaving no room for her to try to convince him otherwise.

With a sigh, Cordelia made the first concession of the day and took the coin sack out of her winter coat. She picked a coin. The medium-sized one that was worth more than the smaller ones as she now knew.

“Do you think this will be enough?” she said.

“For what?”

“For Mrs. Renard. Isn't this what you do at the inn?"

Hank’s gaze travelled from her face to the coin. “I mean, yeah, but you don't have to. She's not a poor woman.”

Satisfied with the answer, Cordelia placed the coin on the table. “But she will lose you. I don't want her to think I stole you from her.”

“She won't think--”

“And it’s easier to think that I bought you as my servant than having you follow me against my will.” With that, she walked out of the Renard home. To the ruin of the old holy house. 


	15. Chapter 15

The world beyond the manor, beyond the town, turned out to be immense. Limitless, it seemed, in every direction. Misty found herself lost in it. She had nowhere to go or any clue what to expect. There had been a trail for a while, shepherding her to the outskirts of the town, but since passing by an abandoned holy house, Misty had been on a no-man’s land. 

It didn’t matter to her, this lack of objectives. The most crucial was to walk forward. What she sought was a place where nobody knew whom Misty’s heart belonged to, a place where  _ she  _ could forget whom her heart belonged to. 

But however fast she travelled, the memory and the agony continued to follow her. _Cordelia…_ Her mind always going back to her. Her ears craving her voice. _Cordelia…_ She asked herself many times what she could’ve done to save both of them. They were unsatisfied at the manor, true, but not miserable in the extreme. Had they not wished for more, they still would’ve had each other. 

How much Cordelia would understand this? Not much probably. But this was the best option, leaving without a goodbye, even if it meant Cordelia hating her. The pain of abandonment would fade away with time. And if hate and anger were the only thing left after that, so be it. It could keep Cordelia going forward. Much better than hanging onto the past and the future they could’ve had. 

It could keep Misty going forward, too. 

For all her life, she had believed in the too-common phrase ‘I cannot live without you,’ believing her heart would stop the moment Cordelia ceased to exist in her life. But it wasn’t true. Her heart still pulsated, broken, but surely predestined to heal like any other wounds. 

And how could she not feel betrayed by that? Her own heart. Was there a way to keep the cracks forever open wide, with indissoluble thorns of memory stuck in them?

She never deserved to be happy again, nor did she want to. If she wasn’t happy, then at least, the life had nothing to take away from her.

…

Her first meal in the last twenty-four hours came in the form of a wild rabbit. With the flint Hank had given her, she made a fire. She used to do it as a child, so it didn’t take a lot of time to rekindle her muscle memory. 

Watching the fire, Misty’s mind wandered to a certain night of the first winter together with Cordelia. They had experimented in front of the fireplace, trying to find exactly what kind of witchy powers those odd-eyes provided her with. And Misty wondered, now that the curse also had befallen her, if it came with any powers. Cordelia didn’t have any. But like a disease, the symptoms might depend on the host.

She picked up a thin branch and held it before her eyes, staring at it with intention. Nothing happened. The branch remained as dry as before. She threw it in the fire and watched it engulfed as the flames licked the game. 

The rabbit looked so small, now beheaded and skinned. She’d better devise a hunting strategy instead of ambushing already wounded animals, which didn’t come so often. If not, at least, she must move to another place with more prey animals. The thick evergreen foliage could only do so much to protect her from rain and the night breeze of winter. Hunger or cold, it was only a matter of which would kill her first.

But who cared, she thought, if she died out here? She lay sprawled out on the ground, looking at the clouds pass by above her ,  so fast. Just like the moment her entire life had lost its meaning. And those eyes would forbid her from ever forming a connection with another human being, from finding another reason to live on.

So, maybe she should accept that this was her end. When the time came, she would have to make sure to have her eyes closed. If she had to die a witch, at least, she wanted to be buried a human.

Something hard hit her in the head.

“Ouch! What the--” She sat up and looked around, but saw nothing. Not around her or above her. Or in the fire, where the rabbit was still roasting.

But it still hurt. It couldn't have been a hallucination.

Confused, Misty looked around. The figure of a human materialized in her peripheral vision, then, making Misty scream.

“I heard you thinking nonsense. Take that back,” the person--a woman--said.

She looked rather young, probably only several years older than Misty herself. Her curly hair like Misty's bounced around the frame of her face. A dirty apron hugged her scrawny body ,  but there was indisputable strength behind the hazel eyes. Her childhood came through memory.

“Mama?”

The woman brought her face closer to Misty's. “I said, take that back, or I'll smack you again.”

“What-- How--”

A hand came flying and landed on the side of her head again.

"Ah! Stop!" Misty said. "Why are you here? You are dead. Wait-- Am I dead?”

“Of course, you're not. That's why I'm here. I was perfectly content where I was, and all of a sudden-- Surprise! Something violently yanked me out of there. And the first thing I heard was you wishing for death. How do you think it makes me feel, eh?"

"But-- But, it doesn't make any sense."

“So what? Deal with it. I'm not here to make sense to you, nitwit. I'm here to tell you what to do.”

“What to do? For what?”

“I hate questions.” Her mother straightened her back without a complaint about her achy joints. Her luminescent hand rose to point in a certain direction. “Go straight ahead here until I tell you to stop.”

Misty stared ahead into the depth of the forest that screamed a big mistake. But equally unwise was to try talking back to her mother. So, she put out the fire and, while chewing on the semi-cooked rabbit meat, started to trudge.

Her mother proceeded beside her, moving her legs, but not necessarily walking like the mortal. It looked more like gliding over a layer of ice. And Misty found the sight rather disconcerting.

Her mother took a grip of the hem of Misty’s jacket. Her expression spoke for itself before she opened her mouth.

“You like men’s clothes?”

“I do," Misty said. "They're more comfortable."

"Yeah, I bet." Her mother let go of her, though still examining her appearance.

Her nonchalant response left Misty flabbergasted. "Wait, that's it? You aren't going to complain?"

"Well, now that you mentioned it--"

"Oh, no thank you--"

But the floodgate had been opened, and her mother began to list all the errors in Misty. Complained about her hair and scrawny physique, criticized her eating manner, mentioned marriage and childbearing, even correcting her slouched posture. All the vexations Misty had thought she would never have to deal with like Hank did. Earlier, death had seemed like appropriate punishment for her misdeeds, but this… She didn't deserve this.

The yapping continued all the way through the forest, only interrupted when they found themselves on the edge of it. There was a path in front of them.

"Now wait here," her mother said. "They'll come soon."

Misty looked around, but saw nothing “What? Who?”

But her mother shushed her.

They waited there for a little while in silence. But nothing seemed to appear in the distance in any direction. Misty had finished her rabbit, throwing the bones into the bushes, and began to feel boredom gnawing at her. She picked up a dry leaf underfoot and stared at it. 

“What are you doing?” her mother said.

Misty shrugged her shoulders. “I thought maybe I could bring it back to life or something.” Then, she recalled what the villagers had once said about her family a long time ago. “Ma, do you know anything about magic?”

Before her mother could answer, however, they heard something. A little far on the path, a horse-drawn wagon was approaching. Misty backtracked to hide behind the trees, but her mother grabbed her by the back of her collar.

“No, ma, what are you doing? Let me go. I’ve got to hide.”

“Stop being a whiny child. Now, stand in the middle of the road.” Her mother dragged her back and then gave her a kick in the back.

Misty now stood in the open field, completely unguarded. “Why? It’s going to run me over.”

“It’s not going to,” her mother said, “unless the coachman is fatally blind.”

“Ma!” Misty walked back towards her.

“Go back, or I’ll yeet you!”

“What? Why would you eat me?”

“No,  _ yeet _ , with a Y.”

“I don’t understand. What language are you speaking?”

Her mother let out an exaggerated groan and pushed Misty back to the road. Throwing up her arms in defeat, Misty watched the wagon come closer and closer with sweaty palms.

“Hide your eye.”

“Oh--” Misty hastened to pull her hair down one side of her face.

"No, the other one."

“Right.” Misty did as told. But one pause later, she turned to her mother. “Why does it matter which one to hide? As long as they don’t see that I have--”

“Because I don't like the brown one. It doesn’t suit you.”

Before Misty could process the insult, the wagon arrived and stopped in front of her.

An old peasant poked his head out from behind the horse. “Is something the matter, young man?”

Misty stammered. 

“Ask him to take you to the city,” her mother said. “Say your mother is sick and needs medicines from the city doctor,  _ young man _ . ”

So, Misty relayed it to the peasant without a question, keeping her head low to hide her face. 

“That’s terrible,” the peasant said. He gestured to the stack of hay behind him. “Worry no more. Hop on.”

Misty mounted the back of it, and her mother perched herself next to her. Together, they leaned back against the hay. 

But as the wagon started to rattle along the road, Misty sat up. “Wait, I can't go to the city. There will be people."

“Yeah, go figure.” 

“No, ma. That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid--”

“Is everything okay back there?” the peasant said.

“Yes,” Misty said over the hay. “Everything is perfect. Thank you.”

“Must be tough, but I’ll get you there before noon, lad.” He whipped the horse, and the wagon moved slightly faster.

Her mother smirked. “An ailing parent gets everything done quick.”

At last, Misty gave up, letting her body sway from one side to the other.

… 

True to his words, the peasant managed to have them arrive in the city around noon. 

The place was bigger and more crowded than the town she’d known her entire life. Many buildings had more than two storeys. Many people were dressed in better clothing. There were still some beggars on the streets, but Misty figured every place had the same problem. And while her automobile tended to be the only one on the streets back in the town, there were many of them here. Some were even bigger, newer, and shinier. 

Dangling her legs from the wagon, Misty could hardly decide which way to look.

“Close your mouth and hide your eye,” her mother said.

Misty did, but still tried to soak everything up from behind her hair. “Their dresses are so colorful, ma, even the men’s suits.”

Her mother shook her head with mild aversion. “What sort of horror is all this? Who would ever pair pink with yellow?”

Misty pointed at a group of musicians. “What do you think that big spiral instrument is called?”

“I wish I was deaf like my nana.”

The wagon came to a stop. 

“Where is your doctor’s place?” the peasant said. “Do you know?”

Her mother craned her neck around, in search of something. “Here is fine.”

Repeating that to the peasant, Misty got off and thanked him again. While the wagon went engulfed in the crowd, her mother picked hay off Misty’s jacket and dabbed dirt off her butt as well.

“I could do that myself,” Misty said, embarrassed by this overprotective gesture.

But other people paid no attention to her. Rather, those pedestrians strode by her in a hurry, not throwing a glance in her direction even when they bumped into her. The waves of people threatened to consume her. So, Misty escaped to the side of the busy street and watched the passers-by from there with a drumming heart. It felt like a whole different world. A futuristic city from one of Cordelia’s books.

She looked at her mother. “What now?”

Her mother shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Explore. He’ll find you.”

Again, another portentous instruction. Misty still had no idea what her mother’s motive was or whether she even had one. But explore, she shall do. 

Looking both ways, she decided to go towards the music street performance. One step forward, though, her mother seized the back of her collar.

“No, the other way.” She made Misty turn around. 

“You told me to explore--”

"Explore in this direction. There is a commercial ward around the corner. It's much more exciting than those mediocre musicians. And good grief, hide your eye."

Grumbling, Misty turned the corner and was immediately greeted by the sight of a bustling street. From candles to jewelry to clothes, they had everything. The air was filled with the smells of perfumes and spices and sweat. People were shouting at each other. Their constant movement was stirring up the dust. It was an onslaught on her senses. 

She hid herself behind a stand of rugs. "Oh, no. I shouldn't be here. There are so many people."

"There are, indeed,” her mother said. “And look, they are selling food, too." She pointed at the bread vendor a little far from where they stood.

“What’s the point? I don't have any money." Misty’s stomach growled. She considered stealing. Although she hadn’t done it for a long time, it was worth the risk.

“No,” her mother said. “Stealing won’t do. It’s wrong. Pat down your pocket.”

Misty felt the side pockets of her jacket, which were empty.

“No, the one on your vest.”

Following the command, Misty found a coin in the chest pocket. The talisman bestowed on her by the female gentleman. The one Misty had sworn to never use. 

“I totally forgot about this. How did you know?”

“Mother knows everything.”

So, with the cascade of hair over her eye, Misty went forward. There was a vegetable vendor not so far. Not only did they have potatoes, they also had corns. Two of her favorite foods. She didn't know how much they cost, but the single coin should get her, at least, a few of them.

However, her mother again turned her around and shoved her forward. “Why don't we take a look at that vendor? They have fresh bread.”

“But-- I don't want bread. I want potatoes.”

“Steal some later, then.”

They stood in front of the same bread vendor her mother pointed at earlier. It was located somewhat apart from the other street vendors, hidden from the main street. And therefore, it probably wasn’t a novelty to not have customers even around noon. The vendor with a strange mustache was snoozing behind the assortment of bread.

Her mother seemed unfazed by it.  “Go on, pick anything you like.”

But speaking from experience, Misty knew what happened twice would happen once more. Her mother would probably make her turn around again the moment Misty made a choice. She shall pick whatever and get it over with.

Looking at her mother, she pointed at a loaf of bread with nuts. Her mother didn't say anything. Misty pointed at a baguette, and still, her mother didn't change her expression. This was unexpected. Slowly, her hand returned to hover over the bread with nuts before picking it up. Her mother couldn't look any less indifferent. So, third time’s the charm, then.

Misty turned to the sleeping vendor. “Excuse me--”

The swaying of the vendor’s head stopped. His hand rose. It was only to scratch his chin., however.

“Excuse me, sir,” Misty said it louder, leaning in.

This time, she succeed in awakening the vendor. His eyes opened, and seeing her there, he jumped in his seat as if having a customer was not part of his expectation.

Taking the talisman coin out of her pocket, Misty pointed at the bread. “I like to buy--"

But in that moment, someone sprinted to her and rammed their shoulder into Misty’s. Hard. Sending her to the ground. The coin jumped out of her grip. In a fog of confusion, she sat on her elbows and looked about. The coin was on the ground a few meters away, but before she could do anything, someone picked it up and ran away.

"Wait! That's mine!" Misty dashed after them.

Into the crowd the thief fled. Misty followed them, shouldering her way through. People in foreign clothes, horses, fluttering banners, there were so many things between her and the thief, and the bustling street quickly swallowed the shadow up. On the other side of the crowd, there was nobody to be seen.

She couldn't breathe. When she had a full belly, chasing a thief would be a fair game. But now, only after this short-distance sprint, a stupor of exhaustion was on the verge of claiming her consciousness. She supported her weight on a fruit stand nearby.

"Hey, don't lean on my--" the vendor said. But their eyes met, and he let out a loud gasp. “Oh, pardon me, sir. But your eyes--”

Although Misty hastened to hide them, it served no purpose to repair the damage done. The vendor came from behind the stand. Other people, who must’ve seen her eyes just thirty seconds ago in the crowd, also began to gather around her. A circle around her, they whispered to each other. 

Misty sought n escapeway, but in vain. "No, I'm not-- I don't want no trouble, I swear." 

The vendor came to a halt in front of her. This was it, she thought. 

_ Burn the witch, burn the witch _ . 

He, to her terror, however, fell to his knees instead. “I ask for your forgiveness, sir, for I'm nothing but an ignorant merchant.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it as a person might to royalty.

Misty pulled her hand back in, confusion overshadowing the sense of repugnance towards a man’s lips on her skin. She tried again to find a way out, but the walls of the spectators had thickened in the short span of time. All eyes on her. Their whispers travelled through air.  _ Different colors, a leader, a savior. _ But nothing along the lines of witchcraft. 

“Have you come to give us salvation?” 

Misty recoiled. “I just want--"

“You look so humble, sir. Let me give you our finest clothing.”

“No-- Please, I don’t want--”

The walls slowly came closing in on her. She thought they would squash her to death.

"Hey, long time no see, mister," a voice said somewhere outside the walls.

Every head turned to look in the direction of the fruit stand. And from between those heads, Misty caught a glimpse of a young man in rugged clothes. He skipped to the stand as if nothing noteworthy was happening. 

"Your fruit looks amazing as usual,” he said with a grin. “Mind if I take some?"

“You!” The vendor parted the walls, marching towards the young man. “I told you to never show that cunning face ever again, rat!"

The young man laughed. And in one swift motion, he leaned on the stand and tilted it until all the fruit came sliding down. The sight of the avalanche made vendor cry out in lamentation, and he charged at him. Still laughing, the young man picked up two persimmons and, betraying everyone’s expectations, ran towards the circle of people with Misty in it. They stumbled back, leaving Misty exposed.

And the young man took her hand. 

Up close, Misty saw the kind smirk of her long lost brother.

"Run," he said.

Misty found herself running before she could respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has a lighter tone than the previous few ones, no? what do you think? let me know!


	16. Chapter 16

They ran through abandoned sheds and the narrowest alleys, across the streets. At every turn of a corner, the passing scenery grew noticeably more and more bleak and shabby. Misty had no idea how long they had been on the run. Her side twitched, and little black spots began to appear in her vision. The only force that kept her legs moving, at this point, was the coarse hand that held hers in an iron grip. They reached a deserted area far, far away from the commercial ward and the crazed people. Only then did the young man slow down, though still leading her by the arm as they stumbled into the ruin of a house. 

Misty leaned against a wall. And at last, she looked up at his face and found his eyes already on her. His eyes, his nose, his mouth, she took those features in as much as he did hers. Uncertain curiosity was written all over his face.

"Are you--" She struggled to catch her breath.

And he gave a soft smile. A couple of of the front teeth were missing. “Hey, piggy,” he said.

It was all she needed. She wrapped her arms around Kyle, let the whole weight of her exhausted body supported by him, and wailed. Every memory of her lifelong pain crept up her throat and streamed down her face, drenching his shoulder. She wanted to tell him everything, but couldn't find any words. 

He patted her on the back with his big hand. "I missed you, too. I knew instantly it was you. You’ve grown, but--” He looked into her face and laughed. “You still have the piggy nose.”

“Shut up.” With a smile, Misty gave his hand a swat and wiped her nose. 

His laughter died down shortly after, replaced by a more somber expression. He kept his eyes on hers. The obvious question smoldered behind these eyes, between the two of them. Still, instead of a question, he handed her one of the persimmons.

They sat down on the floor and ate together in silence. Misty felt too tired to even sink her teeth in it, but tried anyhow, looking around to examine the place between her bites. Naked beams, crumbling walls, window frames without the glass, doors left off the hinges. Every fissure and hole was infested with patches of mold. In one corner of the room, there was some sort of a heap. Misty soon realized it was a nest of blankets.

“Is this your home?” she said.

Kyle frowned. “I don’t know if I could call this home, but yeah, I live here. It’s a long story.”

“You went to work at the blacksmith's shop. I went there to see you some months after that, but they told me you’d run away.”

“You did?”

Misty nodded. “Why did you run away?”

After a moment of pondering, Kyle shook his head. “I couldn’t stand that place. He hit me everyday, Mr. Renard. Do you know him?”

“He died half a year after I went there for the first time. Within a year since you'd run away.” 

“That soon?” He laughed without mirth in his eyes and let out a sigh. “I should have stayed, then. So stupid. All of this for nothing... If only I knew you’d come one day.”

His lopsided smile broke her heart. But then, there came a noise from the other side of the half-closed front door. Misty got tensed up, ready to hide from her pursuer. But through the gap of the door, there came a heavy panting sound, followed by a glimpse of a wet black nose and a glistling tongue hanging out of a wide mouth. The face of a dirty dog appeared. It entered the house, wagging its tail as it walked over to Kyle.

“Hey, buddy.” Kyle petted it behind the ears. Finishing his persimmon, he gave the dog the rest of it. “This is Lapin. The guy who named him said it means wolf in French.”

A piece of the persimmon fell out of the dog's mouth. In spite of her limited French skills, Misty knew it actually meant ‘rabbit’ instead of ‘wolf’.

"So, you ran, and you've been living like this since then?” 

Kyle shrugged. “It was better than going back, or so I thought at the time.”

“All alone?”

“I got Lapin. And other kids, too. They would come and go, and here we have no choice but to help each other out. Even then, it’s really easy to get sick and die the next day like an insect. If you manage to survive and grow up, you become a more serious criminal than a simple pickpocket, eventually get arrested, and die in prison just the same.”

Misty couldn't find words to respond. Back in the town, she had seen orphans on the streets, dirt-clad and riddled with lice and diseases. Only their eyes looked wide, haunting anyone who dared to look them in the eye. Even though those sights had left her with sore conscience, it still felt like an unrelated issue for her. If only she had known someone so dear to her was going through the same thing… 

“And you?” Kyle said. “You look well. I mean, dirty but still well-dressed. What are you doing in this city?”

“Well-- I don’t even know where to start.”

Slowly, as she processed her thoughts herself, she told him about everything. Her second life at the white manor on the hill, the ghost girl who had turned her world upside-down, their attempt at decampment, her waking up with the eyes, and another escape this time on her own.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” Misty said. “I still don’t know how it happened. But here I am. A fugitive.”

For several moments, Kyle said nothing. “I heard this story from a kid that I used to know. In the seaside village where he was born, there is a legend of two lovers.”

And he began to recount the story of the two people, who grew up together and promised to be together forever. They loved the sea, always spending time together at the seaside. One day, the male lover got sick and lost the ability to walk. He could no longer swim in the ocean. Crestfallen, his lover wished she could be the bearer of the suffering. Her selfless love impressed the sea deity, and the deity granted her wish. The man regained his ability to walk. He was over the moon for this miracle, but as soon as he found out that his lover had sacrificed her own ability to walk, he wished that the suffering would be transmitted back to him. His selfless love impressed the sea deity, and the deity granted his wish. But the female lover was unhappy with the decision, so she wished to the sea deity for the same again. The deity obliged, touched by her selfless love.

The lovers continued to take the suffering from one another, back and forth until they died many years later. The legend had it that they still did the same in their afterlives, with the same sea deity between them.

“Seems like,” Kyle said, “your deep love for your girl impressed some kind of a deity.”

Misty chewed over the idea. “You mean, Cordelia doesn’t have the eyes anymore?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? If you got the eyes overnight, why can’t another miracle happen, right?”

Cordelia with single-colored eyes. What an idea.

“Then, I hope she would never find out about this, about my eyes.” Overwhelmed by a sudden surge of homesickness, she wrapped her arms around the the dog's neck and buried her face in the coarse fur.

Besides the dog’s breathing, it was silent for a long time. Misty stayed in the position until the tears burrowed back deep in her. 

She raised her face, then. “There's one thing I don't understand, though. These people, they saw my eyes, but they called me a savior. Not a witch. Are these eyes not considered a curse here?”

“They are when a woman has them,” he said. “But they must think you're a man. When a man has them, they are considered as a sign from the Higher Being. I think that’s how it is everywhere.”

“Oh-- I didn't know that.”

Kyle nodded. “I’m glad you were wearing men’s clothes. And, it's best you keep them believing you are a man. I’ll give you a haircut if you want?”

So, Misty gave a nod.

They fell into silence again.

“So, hey-- Where are you staying?” Kyle said in a lighter tone of his voice. “Because, this place is big enough for both of us. We could live together like we used to. But if you already have found a house--”

“Oh, no, I haven’t. I just arrived actually--” And Misty stopped, feeling a metaphorical slap in the cheek. Without another word, she leapt to her feet to look around the house and out to the street. 

Kyle followed her. “What’s going on now?”

“Ma? Where are you?”

“Ma? Whose mom?”

“Ours!” Misty span around to him, still walking. “She's the one who dragged me here, saying nonsense like--” Again, she stopped dead in her tracks. “Like, some would find me.”

But the only look Kyle gave her was of suspicion.

"I'm not lying! She really did appear in front of me, smacking me in the head and butt and all."

With a head shake, he laughed. "Okay. Um, I have a question. Do you remember my blue shirt that we both loved?"

"What? Why does it have to--"

"Answer my question."

Misty’s childhood urge to punch him in the side resurfaced, but she held it in. “Yeah, the shirt that Uncle Arthur gave you for your birthday, right?"

He nodded. "You loved it so much that you made me promise to give it to you when it got worn out."

"And it did. So what?"

"Well, yeah. But the wear was too fast. You were secretly doing something, weren't you, so you could have it soon? I was too stupid to realize it back then, but I do know now."

Bull’s eye. Misty did use to pull at the seams and put her finger through the hole to make it bigger.

"I don't remember ever doing that," she said.

In loaded silence, Kyle stared at her face and then broke into a victorious grin, pointing a finger. "A lier! I knew it! You always used to do that when you lied. You haven't changed at all." 

“What--” Misty straightened her posture. “Do what?”

"I'm not telling you."

"But--"

"Anyway, now I know you're not lying about ma. You didn't do that thing when you told me." 

This acknowledgement didn’t delight her at all, though there was nothing she could counter him with. Instead, she gave him a light punch in the shoulder. 

His grin never faltered. "So, how was she?"

"Dead and loud. But she looked much younger than I remembered."

“Do you think she'll come back?”

“Don’t know. She was following me around non-stop. And now she's gone.”

And with her gone so abruptly, Misty missed her shrill voice and commanding tone.

"Maybe she wanted to reunite us,” Kyle said. He smiled, then. “So, you are staying here with me? For good?”

“Well, it seems like I don't have another choice." Despite her attempt at an annoyed facade, she still could not help her smile.

He put both of his hands in the air. “Wonderful. Let's celebrate!” He petted Lapin rather aggressively, and then did the same to Misty. 

She swatted his hands. “What do you have?”

“Nothing for now, but I happened to have extra revenue today.” With smugness all over his face, he reached into his pant pocket and took out something.

A shiny coin twinkled between his fingers.

It was her turn to point a finger at him. "A thief! It's my coin!"

He shielded the coin from her reaching hand. “It's mine now. You owe me more for the blue shirt.”

Later, they returned to the commercial district and bought some ham and potatoes. Kyle gave her a haircut with a knife, cutting her bangs embarrassingly short and lopsided. And Misty, for the first time in a while, slept in peace under a roof, between the warmth of the dog and her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> misty finally found her brother. yay!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially imagined Misty to be the (ง •̀_•́)ง type and Cordelia the (◕‿◕✿) type. But now I realize it's the opposite. And I love it.

The holy house on the outskirts of the town turned out to be empty, and all the novelty of the outside world quickly faded away in Cordelia’s eyes. There was a city in the north, Hank suggested. And Cordelia, having expected this journey to complete at the holy house, had no alternatives but to agree.

She had spent her entire life indoor. The simple act of walking easily rendered her debilitated. Each step forward added to the trembling of her knees. And it was just a flat surface they were walking on. Still, she refused to show Hank any signs of her weakness, pretended the hill ahead of them did not make her want to sob. 

So, when they stumbled upon an animal farm, Cordelia didn’t hesitate to pay a hefty price--according to Hank’s unnecessary advice--for a grey horse with a white spot on his forehead. She named him Kelpie. Misty’s favorite mythical horse creature. The tufts of his mane felt a little coarser than she had always imagined, but looking into his kind eyes, she felt her heart already swell with love.

“Do you even know how to ride a horse?” Hank said.

“Are there skills required? Every princess in the books seems to be able to do it after their prince rescues them.”

“Yeah, everything in the world is exactly how it is in the books. Have you ever read a book about how to find a lost friend?”

Cordelia’s head snapped to the side. "I have a question. Why are you?"

"Why am I what?"

“No, that's the whole question. Why?"

"I don't get it."

She tightened her grip on the physical reins, and suppressed the temptation to lash out at him more. Lifting her foot to the stirrup, she tried to pull herself up. The horse bucked her off. Another try, but her arms didn’t have strong enough muscles to lift her whole weight.

“Be careful,” Hank said, his hands dangling on either side of him. Clearly no intention of offering help. “You are going to fall to the other side if you don’t hold onto it good.”

“Well, then, why don’t you give me a hand instead of just standing there like an idiot?”

Their argument seemed to know no end. It was not her fault, certainly. 

In the end, after a myriad of attempts and Hank’s annoying pieces of advice, Cordelia managed to mount up on horseback, side-straddle style. But even then, the hardship continued. It was difficult to maintain her balance once the horse began loping. Not only did her hope to rest her legs ended up in smoke, this also drove every part of the body close to shutting down from overwork. Her books had made it sound so easy. 

 _The princess and prince returned to the kingdom on a white horse._ What a travesty. 

They went up the hill, trudged across a plain field for some time before finding a forest. Countless forks stood in their way, as if trying to bewilder Cordelia into giving up. But if anything, it only solidified her determination even more. Each time, Cordelia listened to the fang necklace for guidance. 

By luck, they arrived at the city shortly after getting out of the forest. But there was no trace of Misty, either, and nobody there had any clue to offer. Staying for a night there, they set off in the morning. 

The wind had a change in its scent after that. Hank pointed out that the sea must’ve been near.

“I hate the sea. Makes me queasy. It’s so hard to get rid of the smell in my beards, too.”

Cordelia felt tempted to ask him what the matter was with the beards. She didn’t think they looked ugly. They _were_ ugly, adding fuel to his appearance of revolutionary idiocy. For some unfathomable reasons, Hank seemed to take pride in them. However, not keen on having the conversation going, she opted not to respond.

That didn’t work.

“Hey, I been meaning to ask.” Hank said. “Are you really a witch?” 

Cordelia cast an eye at him from horseback. “What if I was? Kill me?”

“Of course, not. Misty would kill _me_ if I let that happen to you.”

“Oh, really? You don't kill me because she tells you not to?"

"That’s not what I meant.”

“What are you, Misty’s dog? You have no autonomy whatsoever, do you?” 

“Again, I don’t know what the word means. You shouldn't be so aggressive about it."

“Aggressive? I’m simply pointing out that her view or anyone else’s should not be a factor in deciding the basic value of someone else's life."

Neither of them spoke afterwards for some time, much to Cordelia’s relief. They crossed the endless flatland. The smell of the ocean in the wind grew stronger. Cordelia had a hard time deciding if the smell calmed her or set her teeth on edge. One sure thing was that the experience would’ve been much pleasant without the presence of Hank.

As the path led to another forest, Hank suggested they call it a night before entering it. Cordelia couldn’t care less about his fatigue, but agreed to give Kelpie a break. They found a small stream nearby. 

Hank made a fire there, blowing on it a few times, adding dry twigs one by one. It was one of the few things--possibly the only thing--about him that Cordelia felt grateful for. Without him, her journey would’ve been a constant battle with the cold. She would never tell him, though. And if she chose to, she could learn the skills herself and get rid of him any time.

While the flames had yet to grow, he stood up. “Watch the fire,” he said. “I'll go around to see if there is any food.”

Food, of course, was another problem. They had bought a ton in the last town several days ago, but some of the vegetables turned out to be infested with worms. They had to throw them away or feed them to Kelpie. Now, with an estimate of two more days to go until they reached the next village, their supplies were about to run out. 

Kelpie returned from the stream. Swaying his massive body to and fro, he now munched on grass. Procuring food was so easily for him. Cordelia could not help her mild sense of frustration.

A gust of wind rose, then. It brought the smoke of the fire in Cordelia’s direction and made her cough. 

From somewhere behind the bushes, Hank came back running. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, it's just the smoke. Calm down.” 

He shrugged. “You never know when that nasty fever comes back.”

“It was a one-time thing. I already told you that.” The smoke stung her eyes, and it irritated her nerves even more.

Hank placed his handkerchief in the palm of her hand. “There was a berry bush just behind there.”

Cordelia unfolded the dirty cloth, using the very tips of her nails, and found a few berries in there. “Have you tried them yet?"

“I have, they are not poisonous.”

Hearing that, she went to the stream and rinsed them. She gave some to Kelpie and took the rest to herself. 

“You know, I’ve never lived outside the town,” Hank said. “But I like this. There’s something holy about nature, don’t you think?”

Cordelia hummed in response. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pull out something and wrap it up around a branch. Something long and elastic. She directed her eyes to it. A shrill scream escaped her, then, making both the horse and Hank flinch.

“Darn it,” Hank said with wide eyes. “Don’t do that. You scared me.”

“Why do you have a snake?”

“What?” He looked down at it. “I found it near the berry bush. It's dead.”

Cordelia picked up the berries that had fallen to the ground. They need to be washed again. “I am not talking about-- Please tell me you're not going to eat it.”

“Why not?” He put the snake on the spit over the fire. “Don't worry. It doesn't have venom, I think. And I heard that in foreign lands they eat snakes that live in the ocean.” Bringing the spit to Kepie, he made the horse sniff at it.

Cordelia pulled Kelpie back in and went to the stream. “You're totally missing the point. It's remarkable how few qualms you have about it like a savage animal.”

“What does qualm mean?”

She ignored the question. Instead, she returned to her place with the clean berries and sat down with her back to him, keeping him out of her line of vision.

“Alright, secret, then,” Hank said. For a moment, he remained quiet. “I don't know. Maybe I shouldn’t eat this. What if I really die here?”

“I can promise you that I'm not touching your corpse.”

Hank said something under his breath.

Twisting her upper body around, Cordelia glowered. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

Despite that, she continued to glare at him. His mumbling had contained the word ‘mother.’ Surely, it wasn’t her ears playing tricks on her. Like mother, like daughter, or something along these lines, Cordelia assumed. It didn’t affect her. She simply began to wish the snake actually did have venom.

Hank brought the cooked meat to his mouth.

“Wait. Wait!” Cordelia said.

“What? Are you going to run taste tests for me?”

“Absolutely not. But just in case you die, teach me how to make a fire.”

He rolled his eyes before taking a bite.

Nothing happened. Unfortunately.

…

As the night fell, the temperature dropped so much that the heat from the fire alone failed to keep them warm. So, they stayed close together with Kelpie in the middle. As much as Cordelia loathed the cold, it was these freezing nights that made her feel smug about her decision to purchase Kelpie against Hank’s advice. The horse’s body was warm, sometimes unbearably so. It reminded her of Misty.

Cordelia added some dry twigs to the fire. "I could watch the fire first. I'm not very sleepy right now." 

“Oh, great. I'm exhausted, on the other hand, walking all day next to the lady on horseback."

Turning a deaf ear to him, she looked up at the starry sky. One bright star a little far from the moon twinkled on the boundless map of darkness. Her fingers found the fang necklace, fiddling with it, feeling its sharpness at the tip. She closed her eyes.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please keep Misty safe. Please give her shelter and food and the happiness she deserves. And please, never let her forget about me ever.” At the end of her prayers, she kissed the necklace and tucked it away under her dress.

The fire hissed and irritated her throat again.

“Are you alright?” Hank said.

She cleared her throat. “Yes. You don't have to ask me every time I cough.”

“Well, you never know.”

“I do know. Now, you need to shut up,” she said.

What she didn’t say was that, in very truth, every time she had a fit of coughing, it terrified her as well. Terrified that it might happen again, and she would have to go back to the manor. Or worse, die here. With Hank, instead of in the arms of Misty. What a morbid thought. She would rather die than-- Well, this expression wouldn’t work in this context. But still.

“Do you really believe there is something powerful up there?” Hank said. “Mrs. Renard always used to say those supernatural beliefs were for the high society people.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Can’t. Hey, do you know the story of the magical lamp? Anyone who finds it gets to have their three wishes granted?"

“If you can’t sleep, watch the fire so I could.”

“What would you wish for if you had the lamp?”

 _For you to go to sleep_. “It's a made-up story. The lamp doesn’t exist.”

“I know that. But what if it was real?”

With an onset of headache, Cordelia accepted the prospect of another long night. “I'm going to wish that I could be reunited with Misty right now.”

Hank let out a laugh. “Yeah, that's an obvious one. What else? You still have two left.”

Several moments of contemplation. But even after peering into all corners of her mind and heart, she still couldn’t come up with anything else. Because--

“What more could I ever want?”

In retrospect, Misty and she had talked about this once. And like now, no other ideas had come to her back then. Misty, on the other hand, had no problem generating wishes. To live with Cordelia without any fear. To live forever together. To eat all kinds of food around the world. And more. Many more. Her entire face had shone bright like a star, and Cordelia hadn’t had the heart to tell her that it was not a real story.

“You really are all about Misty, aren't you?” Hank said. “If I had the lamp, I would wish to be a master blacksmith and have my own shop. To be rich. And to have unlimited wishes. Isn't that clever?” 

“Isn’t that four wishes?”

“No, becoming a master blacksmith comes with my own shop. That’s one wish.”

Cordelia let out a small, but genuine laugh. “Really, I would have thought you'd ask for a brain.”

“I got one already.”

“If I had the lamp,” she said, “I would ask the spirits to sew up your mouth with a magical thread so that you could only speak when there is a willing listener.”

After a moment of silence, he said, “Harsh.”

It made her smile. “I admit, the last one is indeed clever, and greedy. If I'm honest, I thought you’d wish to be married with a pretty girl or something like that. After all, you wish for the impossibles.”

“No, I'm not interested in marriage or having kids. I hate kids.”

“I didn't know you were the type to hate your own kind.”

“What about you? Do you want kids?”

For the thousandth time, her sarcasm went over his head. And for the millionth time, he failed to see the insensitivity of his question. 

“Misty and I could never have kids even if we wanted to.”

Long silence. So long that Cordelia thought, with joy, that he had fallen asleep at last. She threw some more twigs in the fire.  

“I didn't know you loved her like that,” Hank said as if talking to himself.

She didn’t say anything back. Because she was tired of speaking. Because he didn't sound hostile or petulant. Because it rather stunned her that Misty had never confided in him about the nature of their relationship. And because she felt guilty for this, for being the one to let their secret slip out.

…

Even as the smell of the ocean grew quite abrasive, the ocean itself did not appear anywhere. Not even a glimpse. Like a ghost, Cordelia thought. A couple of days after leaving the previous forest, they arrived at a small town. Neither of them could contain their relief, having completely run out of food that morning. 

High craggy cliffs surrounded the place and blocked most of the sunlight. Everything about the place was grey. Not just in terms of the houses, but also people’s faces. It didn’t look like their gloominess was simply due to a lack of hygiene or sunlight. Their half-alive eyes followed Cordelia on horseback as if she had come to bring the end of the world. Some unpleasant feeling churned in her stomach. She held her head high, though. 

“I’m famished,” Hank said, oblivious as usual. “Let’s find the inn and call it a day.”

“Go ahead. I'll be asking around here.” Cordelia dismounted the horse and left him by the barrels outside a tavern. 

“Alright. Don’t talk to strangers.”

Cordelia did not wait for Hank to walk off, striding towards other people. They averted their eyes and scurried away, though none of it discouraged Cordelia. Across the street was a middle-aged woman in an apron who seemed too focused on the laundry, so Cordelia caught her off guard by sneaking up from behind. 

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a girl. She’s about the same age as I am and dressed in men’s clothes.”

The woman, after recovering from the initial shock, shook her head with wide eyes. 

“Are there anybody else home? Can you also ask them if they know anything?”

The woman obliged, but a head shake was the answer Cordelia got when she came back out. So, Cordelia moved on and talked to other people. Children with no guardians to pull them away by the hand, wives too absorbed in a chit-chat, and so on. Just anyone who did and could not run off before Cordelia cornered them. But their answer was a too familiar one the Cordelia only needed to see their faces. Nobody knew about Misty.

When Cordelia had started this journey, it had never occurred to her that finding one person could pose such a challenge. And it wasn’t a regular somebody that she was searching for. Misty was too singular to be consigned to oblivion, ever. With one glance at her, she could etch her existence in their memory for good. Still, Cordelia had yet to stumble across a single person who had a clue or heard a rumor about such a girl. It was either Misty was incredible at hiding or Cordelia was searching in the absolutely wrong places. But she hated to think the fang necklace had misled her in any way.

Re-establishing her confidence, Cordelia walked towards a group of men sitting on the curb of a man-made pond.

“Hello, young lady,” one of them said.

“Good afternoon. I’m looking for a girl. She’s about the same age as I am and dressed in men’s clothes.”

Another man laughed. “A girl in men’s clothes? Is that what you like?” 

The whole group shared a laugh, twisting their blotchy and bloated faces as they nudged each other with their elbows.

The source of the mirth eluded Cordelia. “She’s my dear friend. Do you know anything about her?”

“Do I? Oh, yes.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes, yes. I know that I’d like to see you and your friend in men’s clothes. I’m going to have so much fun peeling them off layer by layer--” All the other men laughed again and whistled. Although their hand gestures puzzled Cordelia, the vulgar nature of them was not lost on her this time.

She turned on her heel and returned to her horse. Her teeth clattered, both in disgust and wrath, as she fought back her tears. How dare they talk about Misty in such a manner? No man should ever touch her Misty or even think about her like that. Only Cordelia could. But now, those corrupt images of Misty tainted her, the laughter of the men echoing in the mind of Cordelia. 

Kelpie must have felt her anger. He lowered his head and nuzzled her hand, breathing softly against her skin. It calmed her nerves slightly. 

Offering a weak smile, Cordelia stroked his forehead. “Why can’t they be like a gentleman like you, baby boy?”

“Hey.” Hank’s face appeared from the other side of the horse’s face, almost drawing another yelp from Cordelia. “Are you alright? Have you learned anything new?”

“I learned that boorishness is the basis for men.”

“Is that right.” He didn’t seem to understand the word. “Anyway, I found the inn. Not so far from here. They are heating up lamb stew for us now.”

So, Cordelia led the horse by the reins and followed Hank through the town. The same group of men cheered and heckled at her as she passed by them, but she kept her gaze straight ahead and ignored the sounds and Hank’s questioning look. 

The inn looked as shabby as the rest of the town. It no longer bothered Cordelia, however, having stayed at her fair share of scrubby places in the last couple of months. She put Kelpie in their attached stable behind the building and entered through the backdoor.

The inside was somewhat better than she had anticipated. A young black woman welcomed their arrival with a warm smile. Hank and Cordelia seated themselves at one of the three tables and let out a collective sigh at the repose. 

The black woman, carrying her large body with grace, came and served them a bowl of steaming stew for each. She put their room key on the table. “Your room is the one at the far end.”

“Thank you.” Cordelia gave her a small-sized coin for the room and food.

Even after receiving the coin, the black woman remained on the same spot. Her eyes travelled between Cordelia and Hank. “Are you two runaway lovers?”

Hank spat the stew out into his bowl.

“Not in a million years,” Cordelia said. “That very idea!”

“We are looking for someone.” Hank wiped his chin with no decorum, as usual. “A tall girl in a men’s suit. Do you know anything?”

The black woman shook her head. 

“Well, how about--” Hank said, but shut his mouth. “Never mind.” He threw an obvious glance, which was probably supposed to be elusive, at Cordelia and proceeded to put his head in the bowl of stew. 

Not suspicious at all.

“Nah, I never seen a girl like that,” the black girl said. “But funny you should ask, because we have another guest that’s looking for a girl like that, too. There was his automobile outside. Didn’t you see it?”

Hank’s wide eyes met Cordelia’s. “No. We came from the back,” he said. “I guess we missed it.”

The word ‘automobile’ rang in her ears, and Cordelia lost her appetite in an instant. “Could you be so kind as to tell me what his name is, miss?”

“I forgot. He can’t speak, you see. Tried to talk to me with written words, but I’m no scholar. Another traveller that could read helped me when the man came, but--” The black woman ended her speech with a shrug of the shoulders. 

“Is it Spalding?” Cordelia said with a faint tremor in her voice.

“Yeah, that’s the name. You know him?”

A crease appeared between Hank’s brows as he looked at Cordelia. “What’s he doing here looking for Misty? I thought they wanted to get rid of her.”

“I don’t know.” 

“I find him creepy,” the black woman said. “Looking for a witch, he said. Doesn’t look like a witch hunter, though. Anyway, enjoy your meal. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

A witch?

In confusion, Cordelia watched the woman leave and disappear into an adjacent room behind the counter. Turning her head back around, she stared at the stew-slurping Hank. He did not look up, his refusal to meet her eyes quite obvious. That transformed her sense of puzzlement into suspicion. 

Cordelia leaned forward. “A witch?”

“I don’t know nothing,” Hank said, too quickly to sound convincing.

She continued to glare at him in silence until the unwavering intensity became unbearable to him.

At last, Hank threw his hands up. “Okay, fine. Good heavens...” His face turned serious, then, as he racked his tiny brain. “It’s Misty. She’s the witch.”

“What _do_ you mean?”

“After-- After you became ill that night, she fell unconscious, too. When she woke up some days later, she had your eyes. Blue and brown, you know. And Fiona told her that--”

Cordelia stood up. Her whole body was quaking. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I couldn’t. I made a promise.”

“Damn you and your promises!” She slammed both hands against the table. “Don’t you know we could’ve found her by now had I known that? Instead of asking around about a random girl in men’s clothes? She could be--”

 _Could be in great danger_.

That thought was too much. Her hand flew to her mouth to block her sob, but the sound escaped through her fingers nonetheless. An onset of tears twinged her behind the eyes. She could not stop them. Before these stupid tears streamed down her face, she grabbed her bag and the room key, ran upstairs, and entered the room at the far end. She locked the door from the inside and, leaning up against it, finally let herself cry. 

Her Misty. With her cursed eyes. A witch. 

Why did it have to happen?

Nothing made sense. The only thing clear, though, even in the disorienting fog, was that it was all her fault. She now knew. Misty had had to leave because of her, not because of Fiona or Hank. It was her fault that their happiness had ended. She now knew, then, what Moira had said to her before her departure. Save Misty.

But it seemed so impossible, so beyond her power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, thoughts?


	18. Chapter 18

Cordelia didn’t know how long she had been crying with her face between her knees when Hank’s voice came from the other side of the door, uttering her name. He was not talking to her, but to someone else outside the room. Spalding, she immediately knew. Hank was the only one speaking.

Wiping her tears off, Cordelia got up from the bed and unlocked the door. Next to Hank stood the scrawny figure of Spalding, his lips tight in a horizontal line. It was possibly the first time Cordelia laid eyes on his face so close, and the ghastly image of him she had conjured up as a child couldn’t compare with the monster that the passage of time had created.

“Why are you looking for Misty?” She tried to conceal the tearfulness in her voice with a firm tone, and ended up sounding arrogant like her mother.

Without a hint of emotion in his eyes, Spalding took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. 

It was a letter from Moira. Her mother was ill, it said, and the doctor didn’t know how many more days she had left. Cordelia needed to visit her in such and such a city before it was too late. 

“No, I’m not going.” Cordelia folded the letter and pushed it back into Spalding’s chest. “And this certainly does not explain why you’re looking for Misty.”   


Spalding made some enigmatic gestures.

“Make yourself clear, Spalding. I do not understand you.”

Giving the letter back to her, he pointed his finger at her.   


“I don't want the letter,” Cordelia said as she pushed his hand away. “I want an explanation. Do you know something about Misty that we don't?”   


He shook his head, the tendrils of his grey hair swaying.    


“Maybe,” Hank said. “I don’t know, but maybe he was looking for Misty so he could find you and give the letter.”   


Spalding turned his head to Hank and nodded.   


It was a total mystery to her how Hank could communicate with this invalid. “So, you don't know anything about her?”

Spalding gave the shake of his head.

Despite her sunken heart, Cordelia tried her best to keep her composure. “Then, your job here is done. Tell Moira I'm not coming back.” She closed the door. 

As soon as the door was locked, there came light knocks. “Don’t leave me out here. Let me in,” Hank said, which she ignored. 

But it was unrealistic to think she could lock herself in forever. Her stomach growled after a while, and she regretted not touching the stew earlier. Through the window, the rich smell of cooked meat wafted into the room. Kelpie must be starving, too. Sooner or later, she would have to get out and go downstairs. 

Outside the door, however, Spalding was still standing there, as immobile as a statue. Hank stood up from the floor beside the old man and slipped in through the door before Cordelia closed it. 

“You know,” he said, “that guy is going to be there until you give him a yes. I doubt he even blinks.” He perched himself on the windowsill. “What did the letter say anyway?”   


“Mother is sick, and they want me to see her. It's another trick. She just wants to have me under her thumb like before.”

Hank gave a pensive nod. “So, what are we going to do? We can’t stay here forever and look for Misty at the same time.”

Cordelia glanced out the window behind him and remembered how she used to yearn for the outside world. Those days were supposed to be over. And yet, they still followed her, haunted her, chained her to the past.  

“Perhaps, we could sneak out of here.” She gestured at the window. “Making a rope from the blankets. Or, we could go out the door and hit him in the head.”   


“That's a bit violent, don’t you think?”   


“Whatever it takes.”

“He's got an automobile. He'll find us again.”   


“I just have to keep running away, then. He can’t hurt me.”

With a grimace, Hank scratched his head. His eyes, as they met hers, had a glimmer of emotion foreign to her. “I think you should go to your mother.”

Cordelia let out a dry laugh. “And waste time?”   


“I think it's going to save time. Once you go--”   


“Oh, please. What do you  know?” She sneered at him. “It never affects your life either way. You never understand what it's like, to feel this desperate. You don't care about me. You don't care about Misty. She might be part of your life, but she's not part of you. You--”   


“Do you really mean that?” His voice had a note of severity Cordelia had never heard before. “Why do you think I have come with you, tolerated you, helped you all this time, huh? For  curiosity’s sake?" 

It made Cordelia recoil on the inside. 

Hank got off the window sill and came closer. "Do you think it was easy for me to leave everything behind? What I had and what I was going to have? I was going to another town to learn from a master blacksmith."

She gritted her teeth. "Then, you should go back. Don't mind me."   


“It's easy for you, do you know that? You only have one thing that you care about in your life. But most people don't live like that. We have to make sacrifices in order to make a choice. You don't understand that.”   


“And it's clear that you regret your choice. So, why are you still here?”   


“Because I care! Because I know how much she cares about you!” His eyes were now filled with tears. “I know what she wants, what you want, and I can't help either of you without betraying either of your wish. So, damn you!” Brushing by her, he stomped out of the room.    


Cordelia remained in the same spot, listening to his retreating footsteps down the hall and some time after that. It’d be a lie to say his tears hadn’t upset her. She had to admit her treatment of him had been harsh. And even though it pained her to come to terms with it, at the bottom of this whole thing was a sense of jealousy. She wanted to be Misty’s only heroine, the only one who cared about her. And it harassed her that Hank’s love for her was just as steadfast.

Suddenly, she didn’t know why she was looking for Misty anymore. Was this for Misty or her own ego?

Taking out the fang necklace, she pressed her trembling lips against it and stared at it. Listened to it. And as she wiped away her remaining tears, she made up her mind.  With her bag in her hand, she opened the door to face Spalding. “Take me to mother.”   


Spalding slowly began walking down the hallway and the stairs.    


Downstairs, Hank was sitting at the counter and talking to the black woman. He had a jug of something in one hand and his head in the other. When he looked up at Cordelia, she discovered that his face was all flushed.    


He got to his feet and stood in her way, wobbling slightly. “Where are you going?”   


“To my mother, following your advice.”   


“What about Misty?”

“I have a plan. But you should go home.”   


“What are you talking about? I can't abandon you.” He let out a sigh. “Listen, what I said upstairs is true. I still do have regrets. But this is the choice I made. I will never change my mind.”   


Cordelia glanced at Spalding, who was standing by the front door on standby. "I never questioned your intention, even though you're not my cup of tea as a human being,” she said. “But someone needs to take care of Kelpie." Taking out the coin purse, she held the whole thing out to him. “This should suffice to bring you and him back home. And the rest is at your disposal. You could use it to fulfill your dreams."   


Hank glowered at it. “That’s low.”   


"Is it? I see it as the most practical choice."   


For a while, he did nothing but stared at her, the purse hanging in the air between them. “Tell me where your mother lives. I'll take Kelpie there."   


"I don't know the name of the place. It wasn’t mentioned in the letter.”

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy Hank. Cordelia hadn’t expected such persistence from him. 

“It's on the coast,” she said. “That much I know. So, do with it what you will.”   


She couldn’t decide whether or not to smile at him as a parting gesture. A verbal ‘thank you’ would be too much for her to say, and she doubted he would accept it, either. So, she offered a handshake, which he refused. She made a bow instead, then, put the coin purse on a nearby table, and left with Spalding. 

…

The sun glared at her through the automobile windows as it approached the city on the coast. It had taken two days of travelling. Two days of being swung back and forth in the rattling automobile. The only silver lining was that her companion was mute. After traveling with a person like Hank, it was more than a welcomed change. 

Unlike the town she’d left Hank in, this city seemed to flourish, filled with vibrant colors. The automobile drove by a big fish market, where the smell of the ocean was too overwhelming and practically visible in the air. It baffled her that Fiona had chosen this city to spend her time here. The woman who often used to complain about the moldy smell of Cordelia’s books. The woman with such a sensitive nose. Cordelia could easily hear her constant whining about the ocean. She now decided with certainty that the smell made her queasy and not calm her nerves at all. 

But none of her anxiety would bring her down this time. She would not allow her mother to get the best of her. Those days of hanging her head down were over. Not when she had a plan. The question was, which tactics should she employ against Fiona? A submissive facade to keep Fiona’s guard down, or a rebellious attitude to throw her off?

Before she could reach a decision, the automobile came to a stop in front of a mansion. Not as grand as the manor on the hill, but it still gleamed with elegance. It had so many big windows, the actual walls overshadowed by their shine of the glass. Around the building were tall trees with wild leaves, reminiscent of the illustration of a jungle Cordelia had seen in a book. What was it that Fiona had said? Something about marrying a rich man. But it wouldn’t surprise her if the marriage had already crumbled in this short span of time. 

She got out of the automobile and almost got knocked out by the strong coast wind. She walked into the mansion through the front door, then. Once her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the foyer, she saw Moira scurrying towards her. They almost tumbled into each other’s arms. The warmth of someone familiar to her shook Cordelia more than she had expected, and it took some effort to keep her tears at bay. 

Moira separated their bodies to cup her cheek. “Haven’t you been eating? Look how pale you are!”

“It’s fine. I’m just exhausted. Spalding never cared to slow down for me.”

“Yes, he had every reason not to.” Moira smiled. “I'm glad you're here anyway. You've read the letter, haven’t you?” Before waiting for a reply, she led Cordelia by the hand through the hallways.

“Oh, please. What does she want from me now?”

They stopped in front of a closed door. 

“I haven’t told Mrs. Goode about the letter,” Moira said. “She may not take this very well.”

The door opened, and thousand suns enveloped her as the drawing room welcomed her. Backlit by a window, the silhouette of Fiona sat in an armchair. As Cordelia took one step inside, she expected for Fiona to throw a flower vase at her the moment their eyes met. But the sight turned out to be far from it. In the armchair was a frail woman, limp like a rag doll. Her hair was disheveled. Her face lacked color. Even though she was still dressed in her usual expensive dress, it seemed too baggy for her thin frame. It was possibly the most terrifying image of her mother Cordelia had ever had the displeasure of seeing.    


The vacant eyes of Fiona slowly rose and came into focus. She blew a ghostly puff of air, but did not get up. “No, Moira. I told you not to tell her.”   


Moira offered an apology. “I did what I had to do, ma’am. I'll take any punishment as you wish.” She shifted her attention to Cordelia and gave her a gentle nudge in the back.    


For lack of alternatives, Cordelia stepped forward. 

“Here you are,” Fiona said. “The ungrateful daughter of mine.” But her voice didn’t have the familiar kind of venom.

Still, Cordelia refused to submit herself. “Where's your wealthy husband?”

A look of confusion flashed across Fiona’s face before she let out a feeble laugh. “You mean my doc?” She beckoned Cordelia over. “Come closer. Let me see your eyes.”   


Cordelia hesitated, but the bony hand of her mother hovered in the air and gave her no other choice. She took a seat in the small chair Moira had placed next to Fiona. Her mother did not sit up. With a subtle wave of her hand, she commanded Cordelia to scoot closer and took her chin between her fingers, angling her face in the incoming sunlight.   


While her mother’s gaze burned a hole in her face, Cordelia kept averting hers.    


At last, Fiona released her. “It’s a relief that you lost the blue one. It’s the one that always gave me the creeps.”   


Cordelia refused to respond. What a joke it was that she had thought she could put up a front of obedience even as a tactic.   


“Don’t act like that,” Fiona said. “You now can enjoy life like any other person. You are about the age where you start looking for a spouse.”    


“For goodness sake, mother.”   


“Now that you are out in the world, you have the responsibility not to let the family line fail. But don't let me catch you marrying a nomad. Who knows you might pass your curse down to your child.”   


Cordelia let out a laugh. “Is that who my father was?”   


Fiona said nothing.

“Listen,” Cordelia said. “I have a favor to ask.”   


“What do I get in return?"   


"I know you can't stand me as much as I cannot you. If you do me this favor, this single favor, you'll never see my face again. Ever. No matter how persistently Moira begs me to.”   


A breathy laugh came out of Fiona’s throat. “You’d like that, wouldn't you?”   


“I need you to help me find Misty. Use Spalding, ask your gentleman friends in other places of the country, what have you. Find Misty.”   


“Never. That girl has put you in danger and will continue to do so if given a chance.”   


“She has always protected me.”   


“It is I who have protected you. And that feral child almost ruined everything.” As Fiona locked eyes with her, a vile smile crept on her lips. “I admit I had considered kicking her out countless times. But, am I glad I didn’t. That girl has proven to be a wonderful sacrificial straw effigy. I can nearly forgive all of the other things she has ever done.”   


How her mother knew how to push Cordelia over the edge. Beyond fuming, Cordelia leapt up and walked to the fireplace. She knew it was her mother's tactic to steer the conversation in her favor. A bait. She should not rise to it. A display of anger would only thwart her plan. She should contain it, tighten her fists, and pray the scorching sensation away. 

But she could not. “Do not say that.” She turned around to glare her mother straight in the eye. “She’s not a sacrificial effigy for anybody. She's a human, and the love of my life.”

“Love. What do you know about love?”

“More than you do and ever will. So, try insulting her again, and I won't hesitate to wrap my hands around your neck.” The moment those words slipped out, Cordelia cursed herself for her recklessness. Rule number one of the art of asking favors: Do not threaten to kill the person whom you are asking the favor.   


Despite that, it was a look of contentment, a touch of color, that graced Fiona’s face. “Look at you. Fiery. You really are my child.”   


Cordelia felt a new surge of tears. “I am nothing like you.”   


“Yes, you are. For a long time, I had my doubts. But there is really my blood in you. I can see it in your eyes.”   


“That's too ironic even for you.”

Fiona struck a match and lit a pipe, blowing out a stream of grey smoke that enveloped her equally grey face. “They weren't always like that, your eyes. When you were born, you had those beautiful brown eyes. But one day, that abominable eye appeared out of nowhere. You were just a baby. The fear I felt when I saw it… For many years that followed, I thought about ending your life, to end your misery. Now I’m glad I didn’t--” 

“I was never miserable because of my eyes. I was because of you.”

“You are still too naive, Cordelia. Happiness was a luxury. I did what I had to do to keep you alive.”   


“I’d rather be dead happy than to be safe in misery.” Tears began to collect in her eyes, but she didn’t look away.    


“That's because you don't know what it's like to live in fear.”   


“You speak as if you do.”   


“I have spent a good half of my life fearing for yours so you never had to.”   


Cordelia opened her mouth, only to tighten her lips. She knew her voice would have a tremor in it if she spoke now. 

Waving her hand in dismissal, Fiona rested her head on the back of the chair. “This conversation is over. I need to rest. Go tell Moira I need her.”

Any more attempts would end in failure. Cordelia walked out of the room. She wandered along the foreign corridors and found Moira in the kitchen, stirring a pot of something on the stove. Her special carrot soup.

“She needs your assistance.”

“Oh, of course.” Moira said. She looked down into the pot and, with a confident smile, held the ladle out to Cordelia. “Can you keep stirring this until I come back?” 

Although Cordelia had no idea what to do, she accepted the ladle and imitated what Moira was doing a moment earlier to the best of her ability. 

“Yes, just like that, darling. Very well.” With a lingering smile, Moira left for the drawing room.

But Cordelia found it too overwhelming to even try to return the smile. All she could do was to stare at the chopped carrots and onions in the pot, swirling clockwise and then anticlockwise as she changed the direction of the stirring. If only it was as easily as this to control the swirl in her mind. No longer a prisoner, she had thought confronting Fiona would be different, more of a clash between equal forces. But the memories of her childhood still stuck to her skin like the smell of the ocean. Her entire body was trembling.

Fiona had despised her all her life. It was not news to anybody. But wanted to take her life? The words, Fiona’s voice, and the ghost of pain in her eyes became one big thorn and pierced Cordelia through the heart. How could a person admit such a thing right after telling another they had the same blood running through their veins? It seemed so contradictory in Cordelia’s eyes, but perhaps not at all in her mother’s world.

She flinched at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder.

Moira gave an apologetic smile and took the ladle from Cordelia, resuming the stirring. The vegetables had disintegrated, giving the soup a thickness. “You are staying with us, aren't you?”  

“Moira, is it true that I was born with regular eyes?”

“Oh-- Yes, it is true.” Moira let out a sigh, removing the pot off the fire and moving to the strainer on the table .  “I remember the day your mother returned from the boarding school with a round belly. Her parents --Your grandparents, that is, tried to convince her into--” With one hand near her own belly, she made a vague gesture. "You know." 

“Into what?”

“Removing you from the belly. But your mother defied them and had you.”

Cordelia didn’t know how people could remove a baby from the mother’s belly without her giving birth. “Why didn’t my grandparents want me? Because of who my father was?”

“Nobody knows who he was. Your mother never talked about it.”

“I didn’t even think I had grandparents.”

“They both passed away before you turned one. Your mother has raised you on her own since then.”

“She had you and Spalding.”

Moira smiled. “The point is, she’s always doted on you. She wished you a happy life, one where you never had to know pain. That never changed, with or without the eyes.”

“She said she thought about killing me.” 

“She was young and scared. Had the whole world against her. She didn’t know any other way of loving you.”

_ The whole world against her _ . Cordelia had read the same line in books before and mused how poetic it sounded. Not in reality, as it turned out.

“She should’ve loved me like you did,” Cordelia said, “like a real mother should.”

In silence, Moira prepared a meal for her. Buttered slices of bread and a bowl of the carrot soup. They took seats at the table, facing each other, as Cordelia ate. 

“I wish you’d understand,” Moira said with a wistful smile. “She doesn’t have much time left.”

Cordelia kept her eyes on the food.

“You saw her state. The doctor says she only has less than a month.” Her voice had a tremor in it, and Cordelia looked up to find her eyes slightly filled with tears.

Cordelia couldn’t decide which disconcerted her more, Moira in tears or Fiona on her death bed. The former, probably. “What’s wrong with her anyway?”

“Bad lungs. She coughs through the night these days. It sounds awful, but I do believe your company will cheer her up.”

A cynical smile crept on Cordelia’s lips. “I’m certain she wouldn’t last a week if I stayed.”

“Even then, you’re the only one she wants to be with when the end comes.”

The amount of faith Moira had in her felt unjustifiably excessive, too troublesome to confront. Cordelia couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were talking about two different individuals. “What about the husband? Has he gotten sick of her already or what?”

“There never was one. I know what she told you, but there never was. She was so determined to keep her state a secret. Even when you fell unconscious and she became too sick, she made me swear to never tell you the truth. But I couldn’t keep my silence. Not this time.”

Despite the grave sorrow of Moira, Cordelia could only marvel at the stupidity of her mother. Her entire life had been dictated by her own ego even till the end. It was laughable. Even pitiful. 

“I'll stay,” Cordelia said. “But only for you. I gave all the money to someone else anyway.”

Moira extended her arm and squeezed her hand. “Your room has already been set up on the second floor.”

Her room was smaller than the one back at the manor, but newer and cleaner. Instead of the smell of dusted books, it had the coastal breeze blowing through the large windows. Outside these windows, the view of the ocean at last greeted her. The port a little far away bustled with ships and boats and fishermen. And looking ahead of them, the limitless ocean horizon, with rays of sunlight caught in the waves, took her breath away. 

Misty would’ve loved this view.

She quickly collected herself and went downstairs. Although the prospect of spending any amount of time with Fiona agitated her, it was no longer than a month. It could have been worse. One month could fly by if she buried herself in other affairs, which she intended to do. 

Down the hallway, she found Spalding carrying a glass and a bottle of some liquor on a silver tray. He was having a fit of coughing, turning his head to the side not to cough into the glass. She stood in his way. 

“I need you to go out there and look for Misty. Really look for her this time.”

After the firm shake of his head, he tried to walk by her. 

Cordelia wouldn’t let him. “Fiona has given me permission to send you out, agreeing that you’d be more useful outside. In her current condition, Moira alone is enough to take care of her.”

There was a clear look of doubt on his rumpled face. 

But Cordelia remained defiant, holding her head high the way Fiona might do when giving him commands. “You could ask her if you wish. But remember that in a month or so, I will be your mistress.”

That seemed to do the trick as he finally nodded his head, albeit with a hint of reluctance.

“Good, leave today if possible. Consider it as a continuation of your previous quest. I let you decide which way to go, but you will write me every other day to report what you've learned.”

If he had any complaints to her orders, he didn’t express them.

At last, she stepped aside to let him go. As she watched him walk away and disappear into the drawing room, she already itched to see the results. It felt like, at any moment, Misty could race through the entrance door and straight into her arms. And Cordelia’s heart sank every second when it didn’t happen. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another late update, but here it is!

The new life in the city turned out to be, Misty had to admit, not as bad as she had expected. But not quite how she had imagined, either. She liked the general life with Kyle and the dog in their little ruin of a house, away from the hustle and bustle of downtown, but still stimulating enough to keep her sane. 

Her neighbors accepted her into the community with nothing but kindness. Aside from all the innocent comments about her resemblance to Kyle, Misty loved them like she had known them her entire life. Even then, these people still failed to conceal their sense of awe towards her-- at him. Misty was a man to them. A venerable figure. Mr. Em. Kyle’s little brother.

She sat outside the house and watched as the slum children skipped ropes. Their laughter echoed off the crumbling walls around them. Cordelia used to beg her to show how to do that, skipping rope. But being confined in the quiet bedroom, it hadn’t been an easy task. They had forgotten about it eventually. 

Misty frowned and rubbed her eyes. She shouldn’t let those memories come back to her, should sweep Cordelia into oblivion.

Lapin came to lap at her cheek, and Kyle stood next to her. “Food’s running out. Let’s go to the city center.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. Let’s go.” Grabbing her by the arm, he dragged her down the streets.

Indeed, Misty and hunger were best friends, star-crossed lovers, attached at the stomach. But since the first encounter at the commercial ward, the simple idea of walking among those people made her queasy.

And as anticipated, the moment they spotted Misty, they began to swarm around her like flies on a honey-coated bun. 

“Oh, our savior. What wisdom can you share with us today?” 

“Our leader, my child is sick. Can you heal him?” 

“Dear brother, is my child going to be a boy like you?” 

Some gave her baskets of fresh vegetables and packages of meat. Some others gave her sacks of money. And all of them, to Misty’s great disgust, extended their arms to touch her. Her face, her hair, her clothes. She had lost count early on how many hands she’d shaken against her will. This was the part she hadn’t expected from this new life, and she hated it.

Within an hour, they collected enough food to feed the entire neighborhood for a week and some money to buy them decent clothes. Walking back home, Misty found it miraculous that she could even move her legs. 

She collapsed on the mattresses once home. Her palms felt grimy from all the handshakes. The dog came trotting to snuggled her, so she wiped her hands on his fur. Scowling at the wall, she felt Kyle sit on the edge of the mattress behind her. 

“I'm never going back there again,” she said. 

“Not for another week, you don't need to.” 

“They're so hypocritical. They avoid our people like vermin, but when I live here and wear dirty clothes, it's suddenly noble. Spiritual leader, my ass.”

“I get it, but no one's hurt. They give us food and money. In return, we-- you give them an illusion.”

“Makes me feel like a fraud.”

“Do you want to go back to stealing, then?”

Misty rolled onto her back. “I can't. What would they think if they find out their savior is a thief?”

“Disguise. Wear an eyepatch. Shave your head and glue the hair around your mouth for a mustache.”

“I'm serious!” She hit him with a pillow.

And thus began a pillow fight, throwing punches while protecting themselves with their pillow shield. Feathers were flying out through holes in the pillowcases, dust stirred up. Lapin bounced around them like he was a referee, barking here and there to keep score. Kyle’s pillow hit her in the face, and she closed her eyes. Lapin barked. One point to Kyle! He then took advantage of her unstable footing and threw a blanket over her head. 

“No, that’s cheating!” Misty laughed, trying to find a way out as Kyle continued to whack her with his pillow. 

But shortly after, the onslaught stopped on its own accord.

“It's quite festive in here,” a woman’s voice said. 

Misty poked her head out from the blanket and saw Billie Dean, their neighbor, smiling at them. Probably in her late-thirties, she reminded Misty of Cordelia, presenting with some vague ideas of how Cordelia might look as an older woman. What exactly made them look alike, though, Misty could not put a finger on.

“Hello, Billie Dean,” Misty and Kyle said in chorus. 

The woman entered the house as she limped along. There was an elderly man trailing behind her. Although Misty didn’t recognize him, his scruffy appearance spoke volumes about his circumstances. Billie Dean introduced him as Mr. Vinge.

“He has a letter that needs to be read. My children said you could read. Is it true?”

“It is,” Misty said and rose to her feet.

With an unstable hand, Mr. Vinge handed her the letter. “I apologize for the trouble, sir. I used to ask my friend, but he passed away two weeks ago.”

“No worries, old man,” Kyle said. “Are you hungry?”

“Always.” The man laughed.

They offered Mr. Vinge and Billie Dean some bread and fruit. On their doorstep, Misty sat with the old man and began to read the letter. But before even finishing the first paragraph, it became clear to Misty this was a love letter. There were a lot of terms of affection sprinkled all over the paper, and she could not help but feel intrusive. 

She looked around and looked at Mr. Vinge. “Do you want me to read this inside? It's very private.”

He laughed into the street full of people. “No. If anything, I want the whole world to know how strong our love is.”

So, Misty finished the letter there, overwhelmed now and then by the lingering sense of guilty for this voyeuristic behavior. When the man thanked her and left with Billie Dean, Kyle poked his head around the door to wave at them.  

“Tell your neighbors we got food to share,” he said. He shot Misty a teasing grin, then. “That letter made me feel itchy all over. How adorable these old peeps are.”

Misty went back inside. “You could leave and laugh as you wished. I had to stay there and read it.”

“Oh, our savior is cruel to passionate lovers.”

“Shut up.” 

But now that Mr. Vinge was gone, Misty knew it was not only the intrusiveness that bugged her. She felt jealous of him. He could declare his love out in the open without a second thought, could ask a stranger to be involved in their exchange of love letters, when Misty could none of these things. 

“Have you ever had someone like that?” she said to Kyle. “Someone you want to… grow old with?”

“I have.”

“Really? Did they fancy you back?”

He shrugged his shoulders. When he raised his gaze, however, his face had none of his quintessential mischief. “I think so. But she got married to a wealthy man and moved away. End of the story.”

Misty felt a bit heartbroken for him and for the part of his life she had missed to witness. “Do you miss her?”

“It don’t matter if I do. It’s fine. I couldn't have made her happy anyway.”

“But happiness isn’t just made of money.”

“Love is all you need, huh?” He gave a soft, but sardonic smile. “I’ve only heard rich people say that phrase.”

They never brought the topic up again.

Gradually, people from the neighborhood began to visit them for food and a little share of money. Kyle shared with them abundantly, without a hint of reluctance. And Misty knew he would continue to share even if that left him with nothing.

…

Several days later, all the food donated by the pious people downtown had run out. The money was long gone, and Kyle urged Misty to return to the city center for procurement. 

Misty buried herself under the blankets, letting out whiny noises. “I ain’t going back. Told you a million times.”

“If you don’t, people in the neighborhood will starve. Is that what you want?”

Her resolution wavered. “No. No. There’s gotta be another way.”

“Only an hour of flattering those idiots. Nothing more.” Kyle pulled at the blankets and succeeded in removing them. He grabbed at the back of her collar. “Up! Stand up!”

She swatted his hand away. “Stop it! You are ruining the only good shirt!”

“If you go, you can buy a new one!” He pulled at her shirt even harder, almost stripping her half naked as she resisted by curling up in a ball, growling as Lapin might do. 

“What are you two fighting about today?” A woman’s voice came.

Kyle let go of her shirt abruptly, and Misty bumped her head against the wall with its rebound. “Ah!” She fixed her shirt and, rubbing her head, stood up to smile at Billie Dean at the doorstep. “Nothing.”

“Nothing indeed,” Kyle said. “Our spiritual leader is just throwing a fit.”

“I will bite you.”

Billie Dean laughed. “Your brother is already doing enough for us, Kyle. Go a bit easy on him.”

Misty threw him a smug smirk. Like her, Kyle didn’t have the heart to ever say no to Billie Dean. 

“Anyway,” Billie Dean said. “I came to say thank you, Em, for the letter.”

“Yeah, anytime.”

“Mr. Vinge and I were very impressed that you could read that well. You may be better than a regular governess uptown.”

Misty ducked her head to hide her blush. “I had a very good teacher, is all.”

“Have you ever considered teaching others?”

“Oh, no. I’m no governess-- I mean, no governor… teacher...”

“Nothing serious like that.” Billie Dean flashed her soul-melting smile. “Just a school for poor kids. I’m certain it could give them more opportunities when they grow up if they knew how to write and read.”

Kyle nudged her with his elbow. “Hey, I think it’s a great idea.” 

Still, Misty failed to shake off her hesitation as she gave it a thought. Of course, Billie Dean was right, but-- “Me, a teacher?”

“It won’t be a high-paid job,” Billie Dean said. “You might wish to dedicate yourself to your holy work. But, at least, we could cook for you as a token of our gratitude.”

It made Misty snicker on the inside that people regarded her ‘holy work’ with respect. But the last sentence got her hooked instantly. Although Misty and Kyle never suffered food shortage these days, hot meals were hard to come by since neither of them possessed any culinary skills. 

So, Misty feigned nonchalance and shrugged. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

A dazzling smile bloomed across Billie Dean’s face. “Oh, thank you, Em. My kids would be delighted.” She pulled Misty into a firm hug, pressing her bosom against her flast chest. 

Thankfully, the inside of the house was too dark for anyone to notice her flushed cheeks. Billie Dean left the house, then, limping slowly down the doorstep, but still light on her feet.  

Misty watched her figure grow distant, but the conversation they’d just had found its way into her mind. The heat in her cheeks had waned. She looked at Kyle. “You’ll help me prepare, won't you?”

“Of course. But if we don’t go to the city center, there won’t be no food for them to cook for us. Don't make that face. You look uglier. I’m going alone.”

“You are?”

He nodded. “I got an idea. You go around the neighborhood and tell them about the school. Think about the location and all. I’ll be back soon.” He patted her on the head and walked out of the house with empty baskets. 

So, Misty also went outside to follow his commands, paying her neighbors a visit. Some families laughed out loud at the idea. They said it was a vain attempt, that their children would never mount to anything, and they preferred their kids helping around the house rather than getting an education. Some other families, to Misty’s discomfort, expressed their reverence for the remarkable intellect of Mr. Em and said their children never deserved his guidance. But the general reactions were positive and encouraging. 

Back at home, there were baskets of food at the doorstep for everyone to grab. Kyle sat next to them, warding off the stray dogs that had gathered from other parts of the neighborhood. Unlike those dogs, Lapin sat beside him like a butler waiting on his master hand and foot.

Misty looked into the baskets. “Did the people give you food without me?” 

He shot a triumphant grin, scratching Lapin’s chin. “Told them their savior is busy doing his holy work, and you appointed me as your only disciple. Didn’t question me none.”

“I can see you thoroughly enjoyed it.” She sat next to him. 

“It’s amazing how the same people who used to beat me get down on their knees, begging for blessing. Did you go around the neighborhood?”

She nodded. “I think I’m going to teach just outside the house. Gonna use the wall as the writing board. It’s broad and smooth enough.” She extended her arm sideways and ran her hand over the soot-covered wall. “Of course, it needs to be washed first. What do you think?”

“Good. And when the weather is bad, we can learn inside here.”

“Yeah.” This meant, at least, one problem off her shoulders. But Misty could not help her deep sigh. “I’m so nervous already. I’ve never taught anybody.”

Kyle snickered. “And they’ve never had a teacher. They don’t have anything to compare.”

“What if they eventually decided that it was a waste of time?”

Scooting over, Kyle wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “It’s not for everybody, sure. What’s important is that you give them a chance to decide it for themselves.”

Misty stared into his eyes, and it brought back a sense of serenity. “Okay.”

“Either way, I’ll stick with you all the way. Today your disciple, tomorrow your vice-principal.” He said the last sentence to Lapin’s face instead of Misty’s. 

But Misty could see a touch of bashfulness in his smile, and had never felt so grateful. She didn’t mention it, though. It made her feel equally shy.

…

The first day of Mr. Em’s school was a bit of a failure. The previous night was a sleepless one, and from the moment she woke up, her nerves were frayed. She didn’t know how many people would show up. Maybe there’d be only one. In that case, could Misty or the student bare each other’s presence in that kind of situation? Or, maybe having only one was good. It’d be like a warm-up lesson for Misty.  

Kyle suggested she wear her good suit, the one that had been hung on the wall since the day she’d arrived in the city. It’d conceal her anxiety in the air of authority, he said, and nobody would suspect a thing. 

Around before noon, people began to turn up one by one, sometimes hand in hand. However, as they filled the space in front of their house, it immediately dawned on her that the attire yielded the opposite effect to what she’d wanted to achieve. It intimidated them, made them think Mr. Em was someone to be treated like a king and not as one of them. So, the suit returned to its regular spot on the wall. Misty taught in her usual dirty clothes from the second day forward.

“I want you all to see me as your equal,” she said to the class. “My knowledge doesn’t make me any more important, okay?”

Since then, the school had more and more students everyday. From kids to young adults to sometimes elderly people, they came to study, rain or shine. Lessons started from around noon and ended after the church bell tolling at five o’clock. Even those who couldn’t find the time for it greeted the class as they passed by. Regardless of attendance, Misty and Kyle encouraged every one of them to take food and a bit of money. 

“Mr. Em, is it really okay to take this bread?” a kid on his first day asked timidly.

“Of course, take as much as you like.” Misty knelt down to get to his eye-level. “Watch out for the dogs, though. They could steal everything if you don’t hold onto it, alright?” 

The boy nodded and put the bread under his shirt.

“Did you enjoy your first day?”

A look of pure joy spread across his face. “It was fun. I will tell my dad n’ mom everything I learned today.”

“Good. They’ll be so proud of you. If you have any question, ask me anytime.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

After a short pause, he looked her in the eyes. “What happened to your eye?” 

“A witch took it,” a nearby girl said before Misty could. “He told me yesterday.”

Misty flashed them both a gentle smile. “It’s true. I swapped it for an eye of a witch.”

“That’s terrible.” The boy furrowed his brows, but looked up with a smile. “Then, I’ll be a witch hunter when I grow up and kill the witch, so you get your eye back. I saw a hunter the other day. I want to be just like him.”

Kids could be cruel sometimes, oblivious to their innocent ignorance. 

“Thank you, buddy," Misty said. "But witches are not the bad people you think they are. They are just like us, like you and your family.”

“But, don’t you hate her? She took your eye.”

Misty gave a subtle shake of her head. “I let her, and I took this eye in return”--she point at her blue eye--”because it was hurting the witch.”

The boy stared into the eye. “Does it hurt you?”

“Thankfully, no. So, I plan to keep it even if the witch wants it back.” 

Misty liked these kids, despite this kind of rather intrusive questions that were part of her daily life now. They were innocent and straightforward. They accepted Misty’s answers and instructions without any mistrust. That made them easy to handle.

Young adults, on the other hand, were somewhat difficult to deal with, as Misty found out. Being close to their ages, she understood them to some extent, but she was still their teacher. It was not entirely the same as handling her friends. Some of them could be moody, and could take personal offense when Misty tried to correct their mistakes. Some would spend an entire class without taking notes or practicing, instead just following her with their eyes, without asking questions. Misty had no idea why they bothered coming.

So, when a group of these unenthusiastic students actually did come for questions after class, it baffled her in a pleasant way. Misty and Kyle were washing the wall they used for a writing board, scrubbing the chalk with deck brushes and rugs. 

“Mr. Em, we were wondering if we could get a private lesson. We been too busy at home lately. We forgot some stuff.”

“I was practicing at home, alright,” another girl said and turned to Misty. “But I need you to check my work.”

“Yeah, of course.” Misty draped her rug over the edge of the bucket at their feet. She turned to her brother. “Kyle, want to join?”

He cast an impervious eye at the group of women, shrugged, and turned back to scrub the wall. “Pass. I have to go to the city center anyway.”

So, Misty sat on the ground with the women while Kyle cleaned. It was simple questions about reading and writing that they asked, to which Misty answered as easily as she could for them.

Shortly after, Kyle left for the city center with Lapin at his heels. As the sky grew darker, it grew harder to read their notes. They moved into the streets, following the light. But the concentration of the women seemed to wear off as well, so Misty sent them home after about an hour. 

Kyle came home around the same time with Billie Dean and the dog. They had baskets of food as usual, walking slowly for Billie Dean.

“How was the private lesson?” Billie Dean said as she entered the house.

Misty helped her put the basket down and made her seated at their new table. She sat in the other chair on the opposite side. “Believe it or not, they were all enthusiastic. You could’ve studied with them,” she said to Kyle.

There was a brief exchange of looks between him and Billie Dean. He shook his head. “These girls aren’t interested in studying. They only come for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know how they are in class. They sit at the front, but never take notes. They just come here to look at you.”

Misty couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the idea. “Why? What’s so fun about looking at me?”

Kyle threw his arms in the air. “Yeah. A great mystery, piggy.”

“I can’t blame them,” Billie Dean said with a wistful smile. “They are young and curious, and you’re a good-looking young man who is kind to them. But I do worry that they might be taking advantage of your kindness.”

Misty couldn’t offer a counterargument. It sort of made sense. At least, the part that those women wasn’t interested in education. Even as Misty had sat with the women earlier, their enthusiasm hadn’t seemed as great as she had anticipated. They had asked school-related questions, sure. Now and then, though, they also popped some personal ones that had put Misty on the spot. But it’d never occurred to her until now that other motives were in play here.

And even then, the idea of some girls fancying Misty… It sounded too bizarre to be true.

“What should I do?” she said to Billie Dean. “I can’t just tell them not to come to school.”

“Tell them about Cordelia,” Kyle said. “I bet one potato that one of them will cry of a broken heart.”

Misty glared. “Keep your stupid mouth shut, man.”

Billie Dean smiled, an affectionate twinkle in her eyes. “Cordelia? I didn’t know you actually had someone.” 

“She’s the witch he always talks about,” Kyle said. “The one that took his eye.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Keep her out of this, will you?” Misty wanted to crawl in bed already, equally embarrassed and dispirited. She rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand. “It’s no use anyway. I'll never see her again.”

“I'm just saying,” Kyle said, “if you hint at her, vaguely but still emphatically enough, these girls will stay away from you.” 

“But I don’t want them to not come to school.”

At her vexed tone, he raised his hands in surrender. The dog stood on its hind legs and sniffed at his hands, curious about what Kyle had to give.

With a chuckle, Billie Dean looked back at Misty. “Why can’t you see her anymore?” 

The weight of her shame pulled Misty’s head down. “Because I almost killed her.” An onset of tears gathered behind her eyes. “She’s safer without me. That part of my life is over now.”

The memories of that fateful night still retained their vividness, often coming back in the form of nightmares. She would wake up covered in cold sweat and still hear the ringing sound of Cordelia throwing up outside the automobile. And the way she’d called her name… _Misty_. But had she really done it, or was this part of her nightmare? The line between her memory and nightmares was growing blurrier each day.

From across the table, Billie Dean extended her arm and caressed her hand. Not in the rough way of affection Kyle liked to display, but in a more gentle way. The way that reminded her of Cordelia. “Your kindness gets me worried sometimes, Em. Always choosing others’ well-being over yours.” Her smile, when their eyes met, almost broke her heart. “I wish I could find a kind husband just like you.”

Misty forced out a chuckle. “You deserve better than that.” 

In the end, Misty didn’t tell the group of women about Cordelia. But after a month or so, somehow they came to think Mr. Em had a secret lover in another city. They stopped coming to school one by one. It was for the best, Misty figured. And people like these women, with non-academic intentions, didn't dare try to be close to Misty again.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death

Cordelia opened a letter from Spalding the moment their post man brought it. 

Three weeks had passed since Spalding had departed in order to resume the quest for Misty. When this fact had come to light, Fiona and she had an argument. The revelation was too outrageous, rendered her mother speechless. How was Moira supposed to take care of the whole house by herself? How were they going to send for her doctor without the automobile? But Cordelia had countered that she herself now did as many chores as possible, and that the doctor could still come by carriage. Then, it invited another whole one-way discussion as to the propriety of the daughter of the house working like a servant.

It affected Cordelia none. Fiona had too little energy left to spit more than a couple of vitriolic comments anyhow. Although, she still ignored Cordelia’s pleas to ask her gentleman friends to help with the quest. It was hardly a win for either party. So far, all the letters from Spalding said ‘nothing,’ and the address of the next place he was headed to. They all ended up in the fireplace.

Fiona’s illness was deteriorating at a rapid rate these days. Every night, her fit of coughing would rouse Cordelia from slumber, and she’d lie awake, listening to the scurrying footsteps of Moira down the stairs and hallways, until the first light of dawn would pull her back to sleep. She felt bad for the old servant. Her exact age was unknown, but Cordelia suspected she couldn’t be that much younger than Fiona. When her mother died and she found Misty, Cordelia decided, she should give Moira some time off. 

Her patience was running out.

The letter she received this day, it again said ‘nothing.’

As Moira worked in the kitchen, Cordelia paced about, helping the servant now and then. Both of their hands were covered with the blood of the fish Moira was gutting. They both had bags under their eyes, but sleep was the last thing Cordelia wanted these days.

“You are restless,” Moira said. “Why don’t you drink some tea in the drawing room? It’ll calm you.” 

“I can't. I feel too… awake. Feels like I'm wide awake, but the sun hasn't come out, and I can't do anything about it.”

“The world is big. It’s not easy to find one person in it.”

“But she’s a witch.” Her own word pricked her heart. She tapped her fingers against the back of a chair instead. “Perhaps I should go out there myself. If Spalding isn’t enough--”

“Your mother needs you here.”

Cordelia couldn't help her disdainful laugh. “She’s still a great inconvenience even as she's dying. What a wretched, shameful--” But she stopped when her eyes met with Moira’s.

Her wrinkled face displayed no look of reproach. Only sorrow. And perhaps disappointment, too.

Cordelia looked away in shame. "I’m so tired of waiting. Haven't I done enough of it already? But no, it's waiting all the same, just outside the walls of my bedroom."

“Staying in one place doesn’t always mean waiting,” Moira said and smiled. “You could still fight for what you love whilst you’re here, as did you in your old bedroom."

Those words could only console her so much. What worth did beautiful words have, if all they did was help you vainly convince yourself of the value of the world you so loathed? As time passed, her restlessness returned, a feeling of impending doom eating away at her. How helpless. How pathetic. 

Moira suggested she should go outside for a fresh air, pay the neighbors a visit, make new friends. “People have asked me about you. They are anxious to make your acquaintance.”

But Cordelia only felt dread at the thought of it. She had been thrown into this world like a horse cub, expected to stand on its feet the moment it came out of it’s mother’s womb. From the balcony outside her room, she would often watch people go down the streets. Some faces had grown familiar, with silence nods of acknowledgement exchanged between them. But every time the idea of joining their social circle crept into her mind, it always came with a sense of inadequacy. She would never be like them. It was too late to become 'normal.'

And it felt so wrong, when Misty could be in misery, to even try to pursue happiness by herself. Whatever those people could give her, it wasn’t the kind of happiness she wanted. 

The memories of Misty, still like yesterday, often visited her in the dead of night, while Fiona coughed her life away. The night that their love changed its shape, like the lightning that had blown the tree outside her window into smithereens. The way her chapped fingers wrote poems on Cordelia’s skin, left a trail of flames that couldn't be quenched. The way the early sunlight bounced off her curls as she snored softly the morning after.

"You're my whole world," Cordelia had said. And Misty echoed it, kissing every bit of her face.  

And she would talk about the gentlewoman in a suit and her companion. "They are us from the future. I can't wait to call you my wife."

Those memories felt so close and yet so distant, as if it was someone else's story she had read the night before.

She decided to go to the bookstore and bought books she had never imagined existed. Books with nothing but illustrations, books with cooking recipes, books about ocean creatures (It hadn’t even occurred that the ocean had life in it), books about medicine… Books with forbidden knowledge, that would scandalize Fiona to death. After finishing those books in a couple of weeks, she began to write her own story about the dragon and the witch. From scratch, as her old notebooks with her stories in them were left at the manor.

Her best friend dragon was lost. Well, they both were. For the first time since they had entered each other’s life, they were separated. The responsibility to find the dragon fell on the witch’s shoulders. And on her lone journey, she had re-learned of her incapacity, the triviality of her existence in the wide world. But the darkness of their future didn’t frighten her. As inexperienced as she was, the witch was beginning to see that, in the world full of cruelty, her love for the dragon was the only thing that mattered after all. 

She had always been right about that one thing.

…

Then, the night came at last, before the break of dawn. 

After an hour of Fiona’s coughing, Moira shook her awake. “You mother wants to talk to you.”

Cordelia clambered out of the bed and followed her along the shadowy hallway in the candlelight, into Fiona’s bedroom. The coldness in the air felt more biting in this place than her own bedroom, and her body trembled as the chills crept up her legs. 

Her mother lay in bed, with her long, wispy hair fanned out across the pillows. She looked even thinner than the last time Cordelia had seen her. Nothing left but the skin and bones. The eyes seemed to be out of focus. Her skin had bluish patches here and there, which Cordelia couldn’t decide whether it was a trick of the light. The only sign of life was the persistent cough that weakly fell from her lips, like a defunct fireplace bellows. 

 _At last_ , Cordelia thought. “Mother.” 

Her coughing stopped. Her shallow breath turned rapid and deep. “Is that you Cordelia, my love?”

“Moira said you wanted to talk to me.”

Fiona’s bony hand wiggled on top of the duvet, crawling as if searching for something. “Where are you?”

Cordelia understood the meaning, saw Moira silently urge her to take the hand, but ignored them both. Just standing by the bed, looking down on the invalid. Why should she coddle her mother so suddenly just because she was dying? Fiona had never held her hand when she was a child. 

“What is that you wanted to tell me?”

But Fiona’s breathing grew shallow again as another fit of coughing seized her. When it eased, she said, “I’m sorry. I forgot your twelfth birthday.”

“What?”

“I know, that’s what you are angry about. I promised to buy you a new hat, but I didn’t.”

Cordelia threw a questioning glance at Moira, who sat in the corner next to the vanity, but only received a sympathetic half-smile. 

“I promise… when I… I want to promise to celebrate your thirteenth birthday with you, but--” Cough, cough. “I love you, Cordelia. I’m sorry I don’t get to see you grow.”

In that moment, it clicked in Cordelia’s head. It was a hallucination talk. She managed to snicker. “Well, damn you and your love, Fiona. You knew what you were doing when you locked me up, when you got rid of Misty, and your deathbed confession won’t change anything. It won’t fix the life--my life--that you’ve ruined. I tried so hard to be a good child, to please you as much as I could from the prison you built around me. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough for you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m such a weak mother.”

Cordelia leaned forward. “I deserve to be happy.”

“I know.”

“I will never forgive you. Do you hear me? I won’t let you ruin my life anymore.”

“I love you.” 

Without warning, Fiona’s eyes snapped open. Like a puppet on a string, she sat up in a forceful movement and pulled Cordelia into a firm embrace. Her skin felt cool and damp with sweat. And before Cordelia could react, she collapse back on the mattress and closed her eyes. Shortly after she let out a gurgling sound. 

Cordelia listened to it in terror and noticed the hot tears streaming down her own cheeks. But those weren’t tears of sadness. She did not feel a hint of sorrow. She felt furious. For the first time that Fiona ever listened to her and apologized, she was having a hallucination. How dare she die like this? It was Cordelia’s last chance to look her in the eye and say ‘I defy you,’ and she was robbed of it.

Moira came to Fiona and touched her lifeless hand, sobbing harder than Cordelia. And the only pang of remorse Cordelia ever felt was for this, having made the old servant listen to the words she’d said. She’d wanted to reconcile Cordelia and Fiona her entire life, and Cordelia couldn’t give that to her. 

Temptation of sleep whispered in her ear, but she stayed there for Moira’s sake. They sat with Fiona’s body as the dim light of dawn filtered through the curtains. 

…

The curtains were drawn around the house, the clock was stopped at roughly the time of her death, and mirrors were covered with a veil. Customary practices in the event of death. It was the first death Cordelia had ever experienced in her life as far as she could recall. Superstitions, she was beginning to understand, dictated a big chunk of people’s lives in this world. The importance of them went over her head, of course. She had no desire to abide by those rules and sincerely hoped this would be the last death she would have to deal with. Still, she let Moira mourn the way she wished. If stopping the clock could bring consolation, so be it. Anyhow, Cordelia needed her for the more practical part of handling death such as funeral.

Letters from Spalding came in as usual at intervals of two days. The first one since her passing contained no new information. Cordelia debated whether or not to inform him of the recent development. But the second letter, arriving three days after the death, inquired after Fiona’s health, and her internal debate ended in vain. She wrote back with honesty, and made a specific and firm order that he not come back. 

Four days after the passing, they buried her at the parish’s graveyard. The funeral was humble and cursory. Cordelia only attended it so Moira wouldn’t be the only one. It was more than Fiona deserved, though, having her final resting place in the ground. If it hadn’t been for the old servant, Cordelia would’ve felt no qualms about throwing the wretched body into the ocean.

The news of her death somehow spread across the city. People that had never known Fiona started to visit the mansion to pay tribute. They were all well-dressed, well-mannered, and well-spoken. High society people, they all said the same things as though they knew no other words. 

“Sorry we’ve missed the funeral.”

“She looked like a wonderful lady. What a regrettable loss to all of us.”

“You must miss your mother.”

They came back to back, day after day, without giving her a proper break. It was overwhelming. She didn’t even know how to talk to them, having no one to ever teach her how to act _normal_. A normal high society person. And at one point or another, they all must’ve sensed the peculiarity of her from her words or behavior, and in return, Cordelia could feel their growing sense of bewilderment and discomfort. They smiled, made an excuse, offered more condolences, and idly but impatiently exited the house. Thankfully, the number of unwanted visitors began to diminish after two weeks since the funeral.

“I’m just saying, I don’t know why they even bother with a visit,” Cordelia said, watching Moira work in the kitchen. “They’ve never met her or me. Why take the trouble?”

“It’s about respect for the deceased, darling,” Moira said.

“They should spread another rumor that the new mistress of the mansion is odd and thus should be avoided. I don’t care. This place is only temporary.”

“But surely you must learn the rules of high society wherever you go.”

“Why is that, though--?” 

They both paused as there were knocks on the front door across the house. With a sigh of resignation, Cordelia went to answer the door, preparing herself for another set of unwelcome visitors. 

On the doorstep, however, stood a man in scummy clothes. He looked at her and, at once, flashed a shy smile. “So, you answer your own door now, huh?”

For a few moments, Cordelia couldn’t recognize him. “Hank?”

“Took long enough, but here I am.”

He caressed his chin, the ugly beards now shaved off. Everything about this, from his sudden visit to his hairless face, took Cordelia aback, but she regained her composure and opened the door wider. Behind him was Kelpie, too. All the stress accumulated in her for the last two weeks vanished in that moment. She stepped out to give his long face an embrace, relishing the warmth under his coarse hair.

“You brought him back to me,” she said to Hank.

“That was the promise, no? He missed you a lot.”

Their eyes met, and the last conversation they’d had ran through her head. They hadn’t split up on good terms. Cordelia had practically pushed him out of the way to come to Fiona, to find Misty. And looking at his tense smile, she supposed that was not water under the bridge yet.

“How did you find I was here?”

“Well, I knew which way you drove off, so I traveled along the coast, looking for a shiny automobile. How’s your mother?”

“Oh, she’s dead now.” Cordelia imagined her smile was despicable, but couldn’t help herself. “I have to admit, it still does feel like a dream. I sometimes find myself fearing she might appear out of nowhere and slap me in the cheek at any moment. It’ll take time to get used to it.”

“Right. And, Misty? Have you found her?” He didn’t seem so affected by the news of Fiona’s death, didn’t pretend to sympathize with Cordelia like other people. Perhaps, being crass had its own perks. 

“I’m still looking,” she said. “Spalding is looking, but I haven’t received any news. Did you find out anything on your way here?”

Hank gave a faint shake of his head. Then, they fell silent. Her neighbors passed by, tilting their hat forward and smiling at her, but throwing a mistrustful eye at Hank from behind. He was clad in dirt, his head and shoulders turning a shade of grey with dandruff. They probably assumed he was a beggar that had the audacity to knock on her door. Cordelia didn’t bother to return their courteous greetings.

“You must be tired,” she said to Hank. “Do come in. The stable is that way.” She pointed to the side of the house. “You may come in through the backdoor.”

She went back in and closed the front door. Ambling through the hallways and by the kitchen, she opened the backdoor, checked Hank had found the stable, and returned inside with the door left ajar. 

“Who was it?” Moira said back in the kitchen. 

“Hank.”

The old servant furrowed her brow. “Hank? The one you travelled with? I thought you’d sent him home.”

“I did, but he instead decided to look for me apparently.”

“Well, has he got a place to stay? Does he plan to stay here?”

There came the creaking sound of the backdoor as it shut, followed by a heavy footsteps.  Moira listened to it with a grimace, as though she didn’t know how to handle the situation. The face of Hank popped up from behind the wall, then. 

“Oh.” With her hand on her own jaw, Moira’s apprehensive expression momentarily turned into a startled one. 

Hank greeted her. “I heard about your mistress. I’m very sorry,” he said with solemnity.

“Would you like something to eat?” Cordelia said and turned to Moira. “Show him to the dining room and give him some bread and soup. I’m going outside to feed the horse.” 

She grabbed a whole cabbage out of the vegetable storage. As Moira led Hank to the dining room, Cordelia went the opposite way and walked through the backdoor. 

At the stable, Kelpie came to nuzzle her hand the moment she stepped inside. His breath felt warm and moist, and she laughed out at the slobbery state of her hand.

“I’ve missed you, too, little boy.” She caressed the white spot on his forehead. 

The cabbage galvanized him even more. He munched on it, taking bite after bite as if it was the first proper meal in days. Over the loud crunching noise, her mind again wandered to the day she’d parted with Hank. 

She had said, out of desperation and self-reproach, some mean things to him. The memory of his tear-filled eyes still gave her a pang of guilt. She’d given him her money instead of an apology. But earlier, as he was standing at the front door, his attitude showed no hint of bitterness or spite. Just the same idiotic, stupidly honest man. Minus the beards. Not forgetting about it, but still no intent to punish Cordelia for it. What a man full of surprises, she must give him credit for that, at least. She had thought he was rejoicing in her absence as much as she did his.

The backdoor creaked open, and Hank’s footsteps grew closer. The cabbage in her hand had completely been devoured and disappeared into the void of the horse’s stomach. Hank stopped at the entryway to the stable, leaning against one of the beams.

“Have you already eaten?” she said. 

“Yeah. Was hungry a lot. Glad Moira wasn’t there to see me slurp my soup. She would’ve kicked me out of the house.”

“Probably.” She didn’t know whether or not to smile. 

Should she apologize to him now, or would it be ill-timed? If not apologize, then, what should they talk about? She made her best effort, with the nuisance of his very presence, what they used to talk about. 

Hank took a step inside. “Is she”--he waved his hand to the house--“angry with me or something? I kind of got the sense that she is. Is that because of the one time I shattered your window?”

“My window? Oh--” Cordelia snickered at the memory of their first encounter and the shattered pieces of window glass all over the floor of her bedroom. “Maybe partially. I told her about our journey together. Bits of it. She knows how much of a pain in the neck you’ve been for me, so it must be that.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Then, I should tell her my side of the story. After all, it was me that advised you to come here.”

Cordelia scowled at his impertinence, but saw him smirking with a raised brow. And perhaps, for the first time since she’d known him, she found herself tongue-tied, having no counter-argument or urge to bite his head off. Perhaps, this was his way of attempting to make peace. If so, Cordelia too had to make a compromise and let him have the last word for once. 

She went to the corner of the stable, where someone--probably the owner of the house before Fiona--had left grooming tools for horses. Since coming to this city, she had read and acquired more knowledge about horses and how to take care of them. Picking a brush with bristles stiff enough to prick a hole her fingers, she returned to Kelpie.

“Moira wanted to know if you were staying here with us,” she said, brushing the horse’s body in a tentative manner. “I told her I didn’t know. I suspected you were expecting us to invite you to, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Good guess,” he said. “So, are you going to? Invite me to stay here? An inn is fine, but it’s your money I’m spending anyway.”

It got Cordelia thinking, only for a moment, before moving the brush again. “It’s your money. I gave it to you. It’s yours. But fine, I’ll order Moira to prepare a room for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is also going to be Cordelia's story, BUT something major happens! The end is close! Stay with me ;)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is anybody still reading this thing? lol  
> oh well.

Hank was to stay with them for a few days. About a week. No more.

“The smell of the ocean is going to stay under my skin forever if I stay long,” he said, rubbing his beard-free cheeks.

His presence brought about a change in the mansion, so drastic that Cordelia had a hard time ignoring. The walls of the hallways quaked with the sound of his footstep, firmer and heavier than any footstep she was familiar with. He produced a big yawn, inside and outside of his guest room, howling like a wild dog without regard for decency. 

These quirks were not news to Cordelia. She had witnessed and tolerated them during their journey. Still, they felt different in essence now that they were inside the house, in human civilization. It was the magic of wilderness. Now, every bit of Hank seemed out of place. To her own surprise, it never bothered Cordelia. It affected her as little as did the new rumors her neighbors were whispering about him.

On the other hand, Moira seemed to struggle with her conflicted feelings. Just as disconcerted as Cordelia had felt in the beginning of the journey.

“Do you know what he’s up to in this city?” Moira said as she did the laundry.

Standing by the strange equipment that wrung cloths, Cordelia shrugged. “As soon as he finished breakfast, he trotted off in the direction of the port.”

“He reminds me of my father. A true country man.” Her voice had a sarcastic note to it.

“Give it a day or two, and you’ll get used to him.” Cordelia smiled. “He’s like the smell of the ocean. Kept at a distance, he keeps bothering you forever. Get him closer, he’s irritating all the same, but then, you’ll get numb.”

“That’s not what you told me before.”

“Opinions change.”

“Very well, then.” Moira hung the wrung cloths up to dry in the same room. “Didn’t you say you gave him the rest of your money when you left him?”

“I did.”

“I wonder if he ever plans to pay it back.”

“I didn’t lent it him. I gave it to him. He has no obligation to pay back what’s rightfully--” Cordelia bit her tongue here as Moira’s wrinkly face stiffened. Then, she remembered. “--though, it was yours before that. Sorry. I forgot.”

“No need to worry about me, darling. If you say it’s okay, it is.”

“I will repay, I promise. Fiona has left me more than enough for that.” _The only good thing that had ever come out of her pathetic life._ “I just need you with me until Spalding finds her.”

After lunch, their postman knocked on the door and delivered a letter from Spalding. It said ‘nothing.’

They didn’t hear the thundering footstep of Hank until that evening. But when he returned for dinner, reeking of sweat, it took less than a minute for him to start rambling on about his day. 

“I went to the blacksmith’s shop today,” he said and shoved bread into his mouth. “Near the port. Have you been there?”

His absolute lack of good manners seemed to horrify Moira, who left the dining room with tight lips.

“No, I have not,” Cordelia said.

“I talked to the owner there. Mr. Ward. He agreed to let me work for him while I’m here. I did the same in every place since you left, you know? Work for the blacksmith in exchange for food and a place to stay. This way I can get to meet lots of blacksmiths across the country. I can learn lots of new skills, too. This city is great, because fishermen bring in their harpoons and their fishing tools. And anchors! They make anchors, can you believe that?”

Cordelia tore her bread into bite-size pieces. “I’m delighted that you enjoy your life,” she said in a dry tone without looking up.

“I do. It’s a good life. Not how I imagined, but still… I’m not smart like you—”

“I thought we had established that a long time ago.”

“But I sometimes wonder, what could have happened if I chose to stay with Mrs. Renard instead of going with you? That would’ve been a good life, too, I think. But now that I’m out here, knowing what this path could give...” He took a swig of tea to wash bread down. “So, yeah. Everything worked out in the end.” His lips, with bread crumbs around them, curled in a smile.

And for the first time, Cordelia noticed how young he actually looked. There was innocence in it, and fragility. It threw her off a little.

Perhaps it was because she had never _seen_ him up to this point. She stood on the balcony that night and pondered. Or the lack of ugly facial hair, or it could be that the journey had invigorated and rejuvenated him. Whatever the case, good for him.

She scanned the horizon. The ocean seemed like a deep void, with its moonlit waves beckoning to her. 

 _Everything worked out in the end_ , he said.

Could she ever say the same about her life one day, with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, with Misty by her side? The prospect didn’t seem so optimistic. Hank’s aim was broad. It required no specific people to get to know and learn skills from. It was easy for his life to work out, unlike hers. 

Time in her world dragged on, every second taking the shine out of her hopes. Often, she imagined being reunited with Misty, but towards the very end of their lives. Full smiles across their aged faces, their splotchy hands connected at last, only to have it all robbed again, forever this time— The thought kept her awake at night, gave her nightmares that would leave her drenched in a cold sweat. She couldn’t shake it off. 

And to her further anxiety, they received nothing but silence from Spalding for the next three days. Two letters should’ve been delivered by then. But nothing. Every couple of hours, she would wait by the backdoor as their post man made routine rounds in the neighborhood. Every time, the answer was the same. He had no letter for her, and no, there was no mistake about that. 

“Maybe he’s on his way back?” Hank said, in the drawing room after dinner. 

That was Cordelia’s best guess. “He wants to pay his respects to Fiona,” she said, pacing about. “But I gave him a very specific order not to return until Misty is found. Maybe something happened to him, some sort of an accident.”

A few days ago, when running errands, she had overheard a rumor of a carriage accident somewhere near the mansion. It wasn’t the first rumor she had ever heard since coming to the city. Accidents must be common, and if they could happen to cariages, they could very well happen to automobiles, too. 

“Can it be that he’s found her?” Moira said.

Cordelia really hoped it was the case. 

The fourth day of no news, the post man came knocking on the door for his last rounds of the day at six. Cordelia got up from her chair by the door and answered it. Then, right away, two letters in his hands caught her eye. 

“I’m truly sorry, ma’am,” the post man said. “I’m afraid there been a mix-up at the office. We did have your letters.”

Beyond relieved, Cordelia didn’t give him a word of reprimand as she received the letters. “Thank you.”

“Is there a letter to deliver, ma’am?”

Cordelia shook her head. She paid for the letters, bid him good evening, and returned to the kitchen with the letters clutched to her chest. She had a good feeling about this. The mix-up at the office was a nuisance, but it also felt like a sign of good luck. The letters could have the news she had been dying to hear.

Moira was having a late dinner at the kitchen table, while Hank cleaned the dishes in the scullery. 

“Are those letters from Spalding?” Moira dropped her fork and blinked at them.

With a nod and a grin, Cordelia seated herself in another chair. “The post office had a bit of a mix-up as it turned out.” 

“That’s unfortunate. It happens sometimes. I hope he dropped the delivery price?”

Cordelia opened both of the letters. “No. Why?”

“Well, that sounds unkind, don’t you think? It’s their error, and you’ve suffered very much fretting over them. And it is not a small amount of money we pay for letters.”

Come to think of it, it did sound unkind and unfair. Her spirit, uplifted by the arrival of the letters, deflated again. But above it all, Cordelia felt irritated at herself. After all this time, she was still inexperienced when it came to money. Naive. An easy prey. Now, as she fiddled with the half-folded letters, the usual sense of anxiety churned in her stomach.

“I shall talk to him tomorrow,” Moira said, “to see if we could have some money back as compensation.” She then nodded at the letters. “Any news, darling?”

The two letters said ‘nothing,’ like always. Like she had dreaded. As if mocking her. 

In one of them, Spalding begged again to come back. _I suffer from an unbearable pang of conscience every day. Allow me to visit her grave_ , he wrote.

“Nothing,” Cordelia said and crumpled up the letters. “No news.” She felt tears prick her eyes.

With a lazy yawn, Hank ambled into the kitchen. “Oh, hey. Did the letters arrive finally? Any news?”

And this was the last straw. Cordelia clenched the balls of letters and leapt from her chair. “I shall go out and look for her myself,” she said mostly to herself. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wait here and rely on someone else to find her.”

Moira tried to reach for her from across the table. “Now, let’s calm down a bit, darling.” 

“No. How could I calm down? I’m done. I’m done waiting!”

“I know you feel impatient--”

“Why shouldn’t I go? Fiona is dead. There’s nothing that ties me to this place anymore.”

“But if you go,” Moira said in a steadily calm voice, “how on earth will Spalding correspond with you?”

Cordelia paused to think, still rejecting the idea of surrender. “You should stay here and be our connection. I’ll keep you informed of my location like Spalding does. In the event of any significant news from him, you could write me.”

“But that would be complicated. What if something happens to _you_?”

Cordelia’s bottom lip quivered. “A lot has happened to me. I’ve survived it all. Finding Misty is more important than my life.”  

“Darling--”

“Um, why don’t I go?” Hank said at last. 

They both looked at him, just having been reminded of his presence. His eyes darted back and forth between them, raising a questioning brow. 

“I mean, I was planning to anyway,” he said. “I would go, and you can stay here to receive letters from Spalding and me. You have to teach me how to write some, though.”

Cordelia hesitated, though slightly calmer now. “What about the blacksmith’s shop? I thought you were still working for mister…”

“Mr. Ward,” he said. “Yeah, I will try to negotiate with him, but if he can’t let me go until I finish the harpoon I’m working on, you’ll have to give me a day or two.”

“Then, could you really go?”

He nodded. 

After several moments of contemplation and receiving an affirmative smile from Moira, Cordelia gave a nod at last. 

...

The next morning, Hank set off for the blacksmith. If Mr. Ward agreed to let him go right away, he would come back soon, but if the answer was a no, he wouldn’t return until dinner. Cordelia bought fresh vegetables from a traveling merchant and fed Kelpie in preparation for another possible long journey. She groomed him, talked to him about Misty, and let him trot around near the mansion.

The passage of time slowed down more than ever. The shadow the sun cast in the rooms seemed to remain frozen for hours. She had felt too awake before. Now, even that expression sounded like an understatement. It felt as if she hadn't been allowed to sleep for years, and the line between awake and asleep had become too blurred. 

That afternoon, Hank didn't return. The answer must have been a no, then. Every other minute, Cordelia felt an overwhelming urge to run to the blacksmith’s shop and yell at him, to drag Hank down the street and put him on the horse’s back. She reined herself in. Not for the sake of her social standing, but of Hank, who was already offering a lot.

He came home for dinner just around the same time as usual, covered in sooty sweat. But when he saw Cordelia in the dining room, he beamed. "I finished the harpoon. Thought it would take another day, but I finished it."

"Does that mean you're free to go?"

He nodded. "I can leave tomorrow at dawn if you want me to."

So, that was what he did. 

A day at the seaside city began early. The roaring din of the port was already travelling through air as Cordelia caressed Kelpie in the face for a final time. Hank stretched his arms, yawning skyward. Moira gave him a sack filled with food, and Cordelia gave one with more money.

He felt the weight of it in his hand. “Isn’t this too much? I still have a lot of what you gave me before.”

“I don’t want you to come back just because you run out of money.”

“But I hardly spend any now. Told you I’d stay with—”

“Just go, please,” Cordelia said. “And hopefully when I see your face again, it’d be with good news, and free of beards.”

“Alright, then.” He shoved both of the sacks in his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and mounted the horse. With his silhouette against the dim light of dawn, he looked down at her. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

She didn’t hesitate to smile. “Thank you,” she said.

…

The mansion regained its usual calmness and serenity. No irritating yawns in the morning or rumbling footstep. The scullery no longer had sooty handprints. But the soft neighing of Kelpie coming from the stables was also gone. Just Cordelia and Moira. She relished it for the most part, listening to the faint sounds of people and the ocean the way she hadn’t before.

“The house is very quiet,” Moira said as if it was the strangest thing. 

“Yes, I like it.”

“It was like this when Misty left, too.” She sounded more like talking to herself.

But, it put an end to the temporary repose for Cordelia’s mind. Her childhood memories raced through her mind all over again, and she could no longer enjoy the stillness. Misty hated the manor at night, said it gave her the creeps. And Cordelia had promised that when they finally managed to break Fiona’s curse, she would make their home as lively and noisy as Misty pleased, filled with music and laughter and the sound of dance steps. Now, the silence left nothing but a bitter taste in her mouth.

Then, the day after Hank’s departure, their post man brought a letter from Spalding as usual. The content, however, had none of the usualness. It had more than a single line of written words.  

Cordelia fell down in a kitchen chair and devoured every word of it.

“Nothing again?” Moira said. And she must’ve had a glimpse of the letter, because she then said, “Oh, has he found her? What does it say?”

Cordelia gave no response. Only when she finished the last sentence did she look up. “There’s a person, a man, in a commercial city called Laveau that has eyes of different colors. Only a rumor. Spalding hasn’t actually seen that man.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Moira beamed.

But Cordelia kept staring down at the letter in her lap, with the knot between her brows. 

“Is it not good news, darling?”

“He wants to come back— He is coming back. It’s not a request. He claims that it will be more efficient for me to talk to this man myself.”

“Then, I have to start packing your stuff.” A soft chuckle of amusement fell from Moira’s lips. “Only one day since Hank left, and we have our very first good news. Maybe he’s our lucky charm.” 

Still, misgivings kept churning in her stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” Moira said. 

“I don’t know. I don’t feel good about this,” Cordelia said. “It could be a huge waste of time. What if this man doesn’t exist? What if Spalding made this rumor up so he could come back to visit Fiona’s grave? He’s been begging permission. Perhaps he finally snapped.”

She looked up to see Moira struggling to form a sentence or to process a thought. In the end, the servant seemed to swallow them all. She simply gave a smile and a gentle squeeze on Cordelia’s shoulder. 

“I suppose we could only wait and find out,” Moira said.

And within the next two days, Spalding returned with the black automobile. He seemed to have aged even more in the past couple of months. Thinner than a twig, his hair longer and completely grey. And from the moment he stepped out of the vehicle, he couldn’t seem to suppress his coughing. Despite the lifelessness of his appearance and demeanor, in his eyes smoldered something as he bowed to Cordelia. Hatred, grudge, contempt for all the issues surrounding him and Fiona. Whatever that was, though, she elected to ignore it.

“Spalding, is the rumor you’ve written in the letter absolutely true?”

He handed her a note. _Let me visit my mistress. We shall leave afterwards_.

As his current mistress, Cordelia had some words to spit at him. But considering that he had returned against her repetitive orders, it was unlikely that he would disregard her now. So, instead, she bit her tongue and prepared herself, while he visited at the parish’s graveyard. For hours, she waited.

The sun set over the sea, then. As their clock was stopped, the accurate time of his departure was unclear, but Spalding had left the mansion after lunch. And he had yet to return at dinner time. The prospect of leaving for Laveau that day sank to the bottom of the sea. The last ounce of her patience was about to run out. 

“I really don’t see why you want to spend so many hours in that gloomy place,” Cordelia said, helping Moira with the dishes after dinner. “It’s pitch dark out. I doubt you could see your own hands, let alone a gravestone.”

“Give him a bit of time.”

“I did. But how could I have known that he would need, what, four hours? Five?”

“He hasn’t been able to properly grieve since.”

At that, Cordelia tightened her lips. So, it always came back to this, it seemed to her. Mourning. Grieving. And all her attempts not to let it hinder her future, all her refusal, ended in failure.

“I doubt he has much time left for himself,” Moira said. “He’s ill.” 

The words ran through her mind. “The same illness Fiona had?”

“I should think so. He was by her side more than I was.”

Cordelia recalled the last time she’d seen the man servant, when she had sent him on the quest. His fit of coughing. It sounded just like her mother's that Cordelia had had to tolerate on countless nights. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, though in retrospect, it was right in front of her eyes.

The funny thing was that this idea of death, of Spalding, whom she barely knew, stirred more sympathy in her than her mother’s did. Although, whether that feeling was directed to the life he was about to lose or the life he had lost and wasted for Fiona, she didn’t know. 

Spalding returned some time after midnight. They set off the next morning. With the automobile ready at the front door, Cordelia let herself pulled into Moira’s embrace. 

“I hope you will find a clue there,” Moira said.

“I’d probably come back soon. I will write to you.”

They drove along the coast for hours. The road was bumpy, and she never allowed herself to relax her muscles for fear of getting thrown out of the window. Spalding would not stop coughing. The constant vibration under her buttocks set her teeth on edge. Though she tried to take a nap, sleep never came. 

Everything she did was for Misty. Her sole goal was to find her. But this man in a strange city sounded too good to be true. Another person with eyes of different colors, living so openly that people spread rumors about him? Since the beginning of her search for Misty, she had faced countless disappointments. 

 _Don’t keep your hopes up_ , she told herself. 

But then, the image of Misty, her voice and touch, would return from the depths of her mind, and her heart would clench again.

The engine roared. She sat up and noticed that the ocean was no longer in sight. Only the smell of it clinging to every bit of the seats, their clothes, and their skin. Before her was an expanse of a plain field, with thistles and tall weeds sticking out of the sheet of snow. 

“Spalding,” she said with her gaze still fixed on the view. “I promised to Moira that I would grant her a vacation when I find Misty. That’s the least I could do for her.” She glanced at the back of his head. “And I plan to do the same for you. I do appreciate your service. So, when the time comes, I will grant you one wish, and if you wish to be dismissed for good and spend time with my mother, I’ll give you that. Anything you wish. Think about it.”

He neither nodded nor turned to look at her. She didn’t expect anything. 

Outside the window, Cordelia caught a hint of fresh green under the snow. The end of winter was near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the reason it took me this long to update this chapter was that I hadn't planned to write this bit. But I then decided Hank deserves respect as a character.  
> Hopefully the next chapter won't take that much time! It'll be from Misty's POV, y'all


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's already been a week since the last update? can you believe????

Misty could smell the beginning of spring in the air when the ghost of her old life returned. It returned with the footsteps of Billie Dean, erratic and slow, but steadfast. And a little bit menacing when accompanied by a sad smile. 

The moment the woman showed up after class, it set an alarm in Misty’s mind. Her own kids gathered around her, pulling at her arms and clothes to get her attention, screaming over each other to tell her about their newly gained knowledge. But a fleeting smile was all Billie Dean gave them before turning to Misty again. Her soft features were contorted. 

“Em, do you have anything after this?” 

Misty hesitated, but gave a nod. “I’m supposed to go with Kyle to the city center. He says I gotta show my face to them once in a while.”

“Yes, I suppose he’s right.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Afterwards,” Billie Dean said, “can we go to Mr. Vinge’s place? He needs his letter read again, but his illness has gotten worse lately. Walking outside tires him really quickly.”

“Oh-- In that case, let’s go now.”

Misty attended to the remaining students and apologized for not being able to answer their questions now, promising to do so next time. Kyle came to the wall with a bucket full of water and a deck brush. He agreed to postpone the visit to the city center when Misty explained the situation. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” he said. “Those pious people can wait.”

So, Misty left with Billie Dean. Matching her walking pace with the woman’s, Misty made her way across the neighborhood. The wind blew, but it didn’t feel as frigid as the previous weeks. Se still shuddered.

Before turning the first corner, Billie Dean looked back at the school site, where several kids still lingered about. “The school looks livelier each day, doesn’t it? The role of a teacher looks good on you.”

Misty shrugged. “I just got good at faking it.”

“You’re too humble.”

On the inside, though, a sense of pride filled her heart. Praises from Billie Dean especially made her feel a bit coy, but in a fulfilling way.

“How about you?” Misty said. “I haven’t seen you in class in a while.”

“Can’t. I got married again. My new husband doesn’t like me going to school.” There was only a matter-of-fact tone in her voice.

“Yeah… I heard about your matrimony.”

“From my kids, I assume?” Billie Dean gave a rather wide smile. “I know they don’t keep anything from you. They trust you with everything.”

“You still could come to school without telling him.”

Billie Dean shook her head without missing a beat. “My education isn’t as important as my children’s. I can’t make him angry. As long as he’s happy with me, he’ll allow them to continue learning.”

Her lack of hesitation bewildered Misty a little. “Don’t take it personally, and I don’t want you to think I’m overstepping the boundaries here. But he doesn’t sound like a nice man.”

This time, Billie Dean’s smile was of determination. “I have to feed my children somehow.”

There was nothing more Misty could say to that. She was no expert, but still knew a thing or two about sacrificing oneself for the loved ones, knew about the unwavering conviction. So, she kept her mouth shut and walked besides the woman, until they arrived at the tilted house of Mr. Vinge.

The windows were closed and soot black. Even from the outside, they could hear the horrid, wet sound of coughing. Billie Dean knocked on the door twice, waited a few seconds, and invited herself in. Misty followed suit, stepping into the dusty, dim house. It reeked of old age. It looked no better than the shack of Misty and Kyle. The old man lay in the bed in the corner and sat up as they greeted him.

Billie Dean picked up a bowl of soup left on the bedside table. “I told you to eat it. Now it’s gotten cold.”

“Feed it to the dogs. My body don’t accept anything no more.” Words and a cough came out together. His droopy eyes found Misty through a layer of haze. “Thank you for coming, sir. Forgive me for my laziness. I cannot seem to get out of this bed.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re unwell,” Misty said. “How are you feeling today?”

Mr. Vinge gave the slightest of a smile. “Better. I been reading Charlotte’s letter.” He fiddled with the letter on his lap and coughed again. “I know some of the words, believe you me. This is my name. This is the word ‘love’, and this is her name.”

His boney index finger slowly moved across the sheet of paper, but then, his hand flew to his mouth as another nasty fit of coughing seized him. When it subsided, he lowered his hand. A patch of a dark liquid gleamed on his palm. Blood. Misty flinched internally at the sight. The old man wiped it off on his bedding, which already had similar dark splotches. So painfully obvious. Still, he did it in such a discreet manner, with his eyes cast down in shame, that Misty pretended not to take notice of it.

Billie Dean poured a glass of water and handed it to him.

With the glass raised to his lips, he coughed again. He smiled at Misty. “Forgive me, sir. The thought of my dear Charlotte had me excited too much.”

“No apologies, please.” Misty gently took the letter and sat in a chair by the bed. “Let’s see what she wrote.”

She began to read, then, slowly, taking a break often to wait for his coughing to subside. More dark spots on the bed sheets. The sound of coughing growing wetter, but weaker. It all made Misty feel like she was drowning, too, as if water filled her lungs one drop at a time. All the while, despite the shortness of his breath, his smile never faltered.  

Charlotte reminisced in the letter about the childhood day they’d met for the first time, the day their fate had ripped them apart, all the days and years she had spent hoping to be reunited with him again, and the day their fate had finally brought them back together. They had found each other after forty-two years. 

When Misty finished the letter, he asked for it to be read again. She obliged, and once more just to make him happier.

“Thank you, sir,” he said in the end. Receiving the letter back, he placed it on his lap again as if it was the most prized possession of his life. “Thank you for your admirable work. I cannot ask for anything more.”

“Do you want me to write her for you?” Misty said. “Do you ever write back?”

The old man gave the slightest movement of his head. “She knows I can’t write. And anything I can possibly say in words, she already knows.” 

“But wouldn’t it be nice to put it into words again? An ‘I love you’ from someone you truly love can never get old no matter how many times you hear it. She knows that.” She gestured to the letter.

He smiled, shifted the weight of his body in bed, and took a worn-out pouch out from underneath the pillow. He handed it to Misty. “My gratitude can never be expressed sufficiently, but I do hope you take it all the same.”

In it was money.

“I can’t take this,” Misty said. 

“Please.” The man, with his remaining strength, forced her fingers to wrap around it. “Please grant an old man his last wish.”

“But--” Misty felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to look up at Billie Dean.

And with the single subtle curve of her smile, Billie Dean convinced her to accept the money. Then, the two said goodbye to Mr. Vinge and walked out of the house. Misty threw him a last glance before stepping over the threshold, and saw him looking down at the letter, caressing each word with his gaze. Outside, the westering sun cast long shadows on the unpaved street. 

“Thank you for coming,” Billie Dean said. “You made him happy.”

“Does Miss Charlotte know about his illness?” 

She couldn’t shake the last sentence of the letter from her mind. _I cannot wait to see your lovely face again when I visit Laveau in the height of spring._

“No, but no point in trying to convince him,” Billie Dean said, walking. “He’s determined to keep it that way.” 

“Is she going to keep writing even after--” Misty couldn't say it. It felt like the moment she verbalized it, it would come true.

“Probably.”

Misty looked down at the money pouch in her hand. It was so light, so small. And no matter how hard Misty tried to feel the weight of it, she couldn’t. It felt like air.

So many deaths had happened since her life began in this city. Almost every week, someone drew their last breath in the neighborhood, while other people feared they’d be next, but with an air of resignation. Misty had learned now that there was no dignity in life here, or even in death. It was not news. She knew it when her mom passed away. But as a naive child, she had thought growing up was all she needed, to have enough power, to protect everything she loved, to make a change in the world.  

“I’m not a savior,” Misty said. “I’m not strong. I’m not who they think I am. I can’t save anybody.”

“You make people’s lives better,” Billie Dean said. “You save them from their hopeless future, where they have no knowledge to protect themselves when they need to. You are saving them, my children, every day.”

“That’s not enough. It’s not enough.”

Tears pricked her eyes. They streamed down her face before she could stop them. But even then, it would be for nothing, she knew. These tears. They would fall to the ground, get absorbed, become clouds, and rain on her people like before. This wretched cycle of life. She was just a child, as she had always been, crying for something she could never have. In the end, it would simply leave her exhausted and with puffy eyes. 

Billie Dean cradled her in her arms. With her head on the woman's shoulder, Misty held on to her in the middle of the street.  

“Let it all out." Billie Dean rocked their bodies. "Told you, Em, you are too kind. You try to take everyone’s sadness away by absorbing it.” 

For a minute or two, Misty continued to shed tears. 

Then, she walked Billie Dean home. Her kids were outside to prepare for dinner. Misty stopped both of them at some distance from the house, hesitant to have the kids see her in this vulnerable state. 

“Take this,” she said, offering the whole pouch of money. “For you and the kids. You were the one taking care of him this whole time. You are the one that deserves it.”

“Oh, Em.”

“Take it. You know I can get money from the city people whenever I want.”

Billie Dean softly shook her head once. “Give others that need it more than I do.”

Misty grabbed her hand and pushed the pouch into it, the same way Mr. Vinge had done with her. “Buy your kids new clothes. Please.” She felt another onset of tears welling up. “Please, take it. I can’t go home with this money. Please.”

Together, they stared down at the pouch in silence. Billie Dean accepted it at last.

Misty bowed her head in gratitude and, in a desperate attempt at keeping herself together, said goodnight without looking up, and turned on her heel. 

She had to go home. Kyle must be waiting with dinner ready. 

Tears still threatened to spill despite her efforts. She quickened her pace, focusing on the pebbled path and the rugged feeling of it under her feet. But the streets were filled with people, all familiar faces buzzing. So, she took a more deserted route.  

Her mind drifted to the old couple again. 

Too much life had happened to both of them. Mr. Vinge had lost his wife a decade ago and two of his children some years back. He was alone. But Charlotte? Why did she still live in another place away from him? She might still have a spouse, and children and grandchildren. So many things that kept them apart after all these years. But Charlotte sounded optimistic, and Misty, though having never met this old woman, envied her.

Light footsteps approached Misty, and she stopped to hide behind a wall and waited for the passerby to go away. But then, she heard the panting of a dog. Lapin popped his head from behind the wall.

“Hey, it’s you, good boy.” She patted him on the head. “Sorry. I got you worried, didn’t I? Just had a lot on my mind, is all.”

She turned the corner as the bell at the city center tolled. Lapin, stopping behind her, began to growl with his ears pinned tight and his tail between his legs. 

Misty also stopped. “What’s wrong, boy--”

“Crying on another woman’s shoulder? Classy.” Out of thin air, the face of her mom appeared in front of her.

“Ah!” Misty jumped. A hand on her own chest, she tried to calm the pounding of her heart. “What… What?”

“What? Wipe your tears away and straighten up." Her mother slapped her on the back. "You look like a worm that just crawled out of the soil after the rain."

Misty did as told. She hushed the dog, who kept making a low growl. "Where have you been?"

"Back in the afterlife, nice and cozy. You should visit there one day.”

“Are you suggesting that I--”

“And then, I was yanked out again,” her mom said, pointing her finger in Misty’s face, “only to find you with your crumpled-up face, nuzzling that lady’s neck.”

Misty cast her eyes down. “But that wasn’t my fault.” 

“Don’t you think your hair is too short?"

“Huh? Oh--” Her hand rose to touch her hair. “Thanks to you, I'm a man now. Turns out these eyes make a man a savior or some shit."

"Really? That's new." Her mother sounded genuinely amused by the information, though her expression lacked any sort of bewilderment. There was only the pursing of her lips in mock contemplation. For reasons unbeknownst to Misty, she looked slightly even younger than the last time she'd appeared in the forest.

Lapin barked once.

"You disappeared on me before you got to witness everything,” Misty said.

Arms stretched out, her mother made an exaggerated gesture of shrugging. “Everything worked out in the end. You and Kyle found each other. What's the problem?”

"I'm not saying--"

Lapin barked again and growled more. Her mother stared him down and barked back at him, silencing both him and Misty in one go. 

“Ha. That’s one stupid dog. My nana has a stronger survival instinct, and she’s dead.”

Talking to her, Misty momentarily forgot why she’d felt so defeated until a minute ago. Was she grieving over dying people? That seemed such a ridiculous hobby now. 

"What do you want today?" Misty said.

Like a commander on a battlefield, her mother pointed her arm straight ahead, in the opposite direction of home.

“What?”

"There's the city center," her mother said.

"Yeah. So?"

"Go. Meet Kyle there.”

“Oh, okay.” Misty took some steps forward, then stopped, tilting her head. “But Kyle isn’t there. He’s at home.”

“Is he, though?”

“Isn’t he?”

Her mother shrugged in a theatrical manner again. “Dunno. Have to go there and find out.”

“This is not raffle. Just tell me already.”

“Tell you why you need to go to the city center? Do you need a reason?”

Her exerspetation only grew. “Well, the last time I did what you told me to do, I was attacked and robbed.” 

“By your brother.”

“You could’ve simply told me I’d be reunited with him there.”

"Ah. Holding a grudge against your dead mother? How fashionable."

“It’s just a genuine opinion.”

Her mother threw her arms in the air. “Fine. Kyle’s in trouble. How about that? Run!”

Misty didn’t grasp any of the situation, but bolted with all her might solely because her mother shouted the last word with impressive urgency. Like a loud go signal that starts a race. But once the sharp wind caressed her cheeks, she even forgot about that. Nothing else mattered in that moment. She felt liberated, felt all of her pent-up sorrow soar to the skies, purifying her.

Then, the city center came into view up ahead. She saw the shadows of people and allowed herself to pause just outside the danger zone, where she could easily run from the pious mob if necessary. Lapin caught up with her, panting with his tongue hanging out. Her brain regained normal function.

“Hang on.” Holding her sides, she struggled to regulate her breathing. “What do you mean ‘How about that’? Is Kyle in trouble or not?” When no answer came, she looked around. “Ma?”

“What’s wrong with Kyle?” Her mother popped up from nowhere again.

Misty flinched. “You said he was in trouble.”

“Really? That’s terrible.”

“Ma, I really don’t have time for your nonsense. I want to go home. I’m hungry.”

With her hands on Misty’s shoulders, her mother looked her straight in the eye. “You’re my daughter. Do you trust me?”

Misty sought a hint of sincerity in her gaze, but said, “Not really.”

“Well, good.” Releasing her, she made a motion with her arm and pointed to Misty’s left. “Take a walk in this direction. Don’t ask why--”

“Why?”

“You need a distraction is why. Go on, kid.” First waving the dog away, her mother urged Misty to go in the same fashion.

But Misty remained put. Ahead of them, the traffic of people seemed rather heavy, and going in there headfirst as a savior was something only idiots would do. She was not an idiot. “No, I’m not listening to your commands anymore. I’m going the opposite way.” With her head held up high, she turned to her right and marched on as Lapin trailed behind her. But within several steps, her feet stopped. “Wait a minute. I don’t need to go anywhere. I can just go home.” 

Her head snapped back around, but there was no sign of her mother anymore. She cursed under her breath and turned on her heel when--  

“Mr. Em, what a pleasure to have you here today.”

It was too late when she realized her grave mistake. City people clustered around her one by one, hollering for others to join, blocking any escapeway that had been there a moment ago. Misty could do nothing but wobble in the center of the tight circle and hold whatever item they pushed into her hands. Was this what her mother wanted to manipulate her into? More offerings? But it seemed redundant when she already had Kyle to drag her all the time. 

“These are all very nice,” Misty said with a forced smile. “Thank you all. I need to go home, though. I--” But something caught her attention, a shadow behind the walls of the people.

There was the silhouette of a person, their face obscure as they stood with their back to the sun. The shadow slowly came closer. The hem of the dress fluttered in the wind. And the brief moment the person stepped in the shade, Misty saw her face. Her lips moved to utter a word, to utter her name. And Misty’s lips did the same.

Cordelia.

A sense of dread engulfed Misty. She hastened to return the offerings to the nearest people, span around, shouldered her way through the crowd with uncharacteristic force, and ran away. People whined behind her. Lapin panted and followed. And Cordelia’s voice echoed off the walls and inside her head. 

That bitch of a mother. This was her intent. She must’ve predicted Misty would choose the opposite way.

Misty ran. She ran like the night she’d tried to save Cordelia. Now, running away from her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this Misty. She's such a dumb of ass 💚


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> penultimate chapter, y'all.  
> get your tissues ready >:)

Misty shut the door of her shack behind her with a loud bang. 

“What’s up?” Kyle got up from his chair at the table.

So many thoughts raced through her mind at once, and it only accelerated after her body had stopped running, harassing her for lack of an outlet. So, she stomped around the tiny place. “Ma, she did it again. Ma, where are you?” she shouted.

“Okay. Let's calm down a bit.”

“No, she ruined it.” Misty whipped around to him. “Now Cordelia knows I'm here.”

“Cordelia?”

Her mother popped up between them. “Oh, for my sanity's sake, I ruined nothing. It’s your doing.”

“Ma?” Kyle said.

Misty looked at her. “You lied to me again.”

“As if you would’ve listen to me if I had told you the truth.” 

“Because your good ideas are always insane!”

“How could I be insane? I’m dead!” Her mother threw her arms in the air. “It’s you that’s out of your mind. Why on earth did you run away?”

“What is going on?” Kyle said, shouting just as loudly, and looked at their mother with wide eyes. “Why are you here? Why can I see you?”

“Ask this potato enthusiast.” Their mother swung her arm at Misty. “She’s all grown up, but I still have to wipe her ass.”

“No. It’s you that stir up what's perfectly fine and make a mess. Just like what you used to do to my soup!”

“It never had enough salt!” 

“No, it was your tongue that had a problem,” Kyle said. 

“You.” Their mother’s head snapped around, her eyes squinted at him. “If you were a proper brother. If you’d done what a proper mentor does, I’d be in my current life, enjoying good hygiene and air quality now.”

“Current life? What?”

“But, look at you!” Their mother made a sweeping gesture at him from head to toe, did the same to Misty, and concluded the grand pantomime by looking up at the crumbling ceiling with her arms outstretched. 

Kyle frowned. “Well, I been busy trying not to die. Thanks.”

Their mother ran her eyes again over the shabby appearance of Kyle. “Could’ve done a better job.”

He gave Misty a vexed look. 

That was when all of the three heads snapped around at the sound coming from the other side of the door. A scratchy sound. It was Lapin, begging to be let in, whining in the most pathetic tone of his voice as if they had made him an orphan. Kyle stepped forward to open the door. As his hand touched the handle, however, there came a knock this time. Of course, the dog couldn’t have done it. 

“Open the door,” their mother said to Kyle.

But Misty beat him to it, rushing to lean heavily against the door. “Don’t.”

“Misty?” A familiar voice came from the other side of the door. This thin, frail, rusty barrier. “Misty, are you in there?”

With a small gasp, Kyle met Misty’s eyes. “Is that Cordelia?” he said in a whisper. 

Misty looked away. 

“Misty, please, open the door,” Cordelia said. “I don't know why you are… I have been looking for you. And when I learned that there was a man with the eyes in this city, I thought he would know something about you. And I finally found you… Why are you running away from me?” She sounded more confused than hurt. 

Then, it became silent, though there was no sound of retreating footsteps. Misty still felt her presence behind her back, crying, probably with her forehead resting against the door. She banished the image from her mind. But when the actual sound of her sobbing reached her ears, all of her resolution to keep the door shut melted away.  

She opened it a crack, but kept her gaze fixed on the ground. Lapin nosed his way through it first, and next Cordelia pushed it even wider for herself. Her dress entered Misty’s field of vision, followed by her dainty arms rising to wrap around her neck. And as she pulled her in for an embrace, all Misty could see was her hair. The familiar warmth spread through her body, and like melted snow, tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. 

She clung to her. She could not resist it.

“I knew I could find you wherever you were,” Cordelia said. She pulled away and cupped her cheeks. “Let me see your eyes.”

But Misty could only raise her face, too timid to look her straight in the eye. 

In an attempt to lock eyes with her, Cordelia stooped a little, but with no success. Still, her hands remained on her cheeks. “I’m angry, Misty. Do you know why? I’m angry because you left alone, because you thought I could even be remotely happy without you. You didn’t believe in us, Misty. I’m angry and hurt.”

Misty gave a nod and sobbed. She knew this would happen, that Cordelia would be mad, and had accepted the future. It hurt now all the same. Another teardrop spilled out. 

Cordelia kissed her just below her eye. The wet eyelashes brushing against the skin for a split second. “But I forgive you. We could be together again. Forever. We would be happy.”

“But if Fiona found us--”

“Fiona could never separate us again. She’s dead now.”

In shock, Misty’s eyes darted up. There, in front of her, a pair of brown eyes smiled. 

“A disease of the lungs,” Cordelia said. “She died coughing blood. But don’t be sorry. She deserved it. I told her I’d never forgive her.” Her voice had no trace of sorrow. But then, she grimaced. “Do you think me cruel?”

Misty didn’t know how to respond. All she knew was that Fiona and Mr. Vinge suffered in similar ways. Coughing and blood. Death. Could a person cry over the pain of a fellow human, while not doing so over the same pain of the other? Was there right or wrong to it?

“It’s okay if you do,” Cordelia said. “I just don’t want to hide anything from you. I don’t want to hide from you.”

Her gaze felt piercing, and Misty found herself avoiding it.

Cordelia took her hands. “Come home with me. The manor is ours. You don't have to keep running away anymore.”

The suggestion didn’t sink in right away. When it did, though, Misty looked down at their connected hands. “I can’t leave this place. I have built my life here, in this community. This is my home.” She threw a stiff smile at Kyle, reassuring him.  

Cordelia followed her gaze. As her posture stiffened up, she studied him from head to toe as if his presence had just caught her notice. “Who’s this?” Her voice had a coldness woven into it for some reasons.

“It’s Kyle,” he said. “His brother-- I mean, her brother.”

Cordelia blinked, processing it, and turned her head back to Misty. “You found him.”

Misty gave a nod.

“Oh, Misty.” She broke into a wide smile. “I’m so happy for you. For both of you. Of course, he can come home with us. And we’ll live together, just like you always dreamt of.”

So, the conversation had come full circle, it seemed, bringing no change to the situation. Misty still struggled to understand her own feelings and put them into words. And the air of anticipation that oozed off of Cordelia, the hope in her gaze, suffocated her, tightening around her neck.

“It won’t be so easy.” Kyle came to the rescue. “We got a school here, teaching the poor people. She’s the only teacher.”

A crease appeared between Cordelia’s brows. “You are?” she said to Misty. “But-- What about your eyes? Don’t they know?”

"They think I'm a man," Misty said. “It’s safe here as long as I keep it that way.”

“Okay. Then, we will build a house here. I inherited a fortune from Fiona. We could have any house we wish for.”

It wasn’t as easy as that, Misty wanted to say. It wasn’t just the issue of Fiona.

Cordelia kept studying her face. “Misty, this is what you want, isn’t it?”

“I--” But nothing more came out.

The truth was, it was that easy. There was nothing else they had to fear. So easy that she didn’t know why she had been so determined to run away from her all this time. Still, her heart refused to accept that reality, the joy of it, like it was a foreign substance invading her body. Now, everything Cordelia had said started to sound like naivete speaking, and Misty felt envious of her innocence.

What did she want? She couldn’t think. The tumultuous silence filled her lungs.

“How about you let her take time?” Kyle said, after a long, long pause, looking at Cordelia. “She’s a little tired after school. Give her time to rest, and she will be able to think.”

Misty couldn’t make eye contact as Cordelia waited for an answer from her. But silence was all she could offer. 

At last, Cordelia took a deliberate step back. Her smile was unwavering. “Okay. If that’s what you need, I’ll give you that.” Another step back. “Come to me at Mrs. Benson’s Inn when you need me. I won’t leave this city without you.” Finally turning around, she put a hand on the door handle.

The outside was pitch dark.

Kyle scurried after her. “Let me walk you to the inn.” 

So, the two and the dog left, leaving Misty alone in the candlelit shack. Her shoulders quivered, her teeth chattering. Behind her closed eyelids, the brown eyes of Cordelia still smiled at her. Her floodgates had been opened. She wrapped her arms around her own body and crouched down to the floor as whimpers fell from her lips. 

She managed to crawl under the blankets. Still, the chills stayed in her bones and blood like in the middle of winter. She wished Lapin was here to warm her. 

After a while, Kyle and the dog came back. 

“Are you asleep?” 

Looking at the wall, Misty responded with a groan. 

“She’s a bit different from how I imagined,” he said as he pulled up his chair. “I thought, you know, considering she’s been locked up her entire life, she’d be more timid. More mousy. But she’s kind of frightening, isn’t she?”

Misty forced a laugh, which came out more mirthless than intended, so much that it even nauseated herself.

“What’s wrong, piggy?” 

Lapin came to snuggle against her back. She wrapped the blankets around her body tighter and welcomed his feral warmth. “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you want to see her? You don’t have a reason to run anymore. Things have changed.”

“I know that, but-- I never thought she’d find me.”

“You mean you didn’t think she was looking for you?”

She didn’t know what she should’ve expected, because she shouldn’t have expected anything. Until now, it had been a forbidden thought. A thought that could’ve killed her with false hope and driven her insane.

“So, you didn’t have a chance to think,” Kyle said. “You’re overwhelmed. Sleep some and clear your head, and then, think.”

That was what she tried to do.

But as the heavy breathing of the dog caressed her in the back of her neck, she noticed, at last, the absence of their mother. The shack was as quiet and peaceful as the clear sky after a storm. Misty shook her head on the pillow. That woman, acting as if she knew everything Misty wanted. 

What did she want, though? That was the question. To be with Cordelia. For Cordelia to be happy and never sad. For all of her childhood dreams to come true. But--

There seemed to be always a ‘but’ accompanying every thought and wish. What was it that came after the ‘but’? She searched every corner of her mind, drifting off. It was a sense of dread that had made her run away earlier. That much she knew. Where it came from, she couldn’t pinpoint. 

…

Misty woke from shallow sleep in the middle of the night. The world was wrapped in complete silence expect for the roaring snoring of Kyle next to her. 

She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. By the second, her mind became clearer, thoughts racing through more and more. She stared into the darkness. The piercing gaze of Cordelia materialized out of it. 

She sat up, shivering as the blanket slid off her body, grabbed the suit jacket from the wall, and put it on. She opened the door as quietly as possible. The rusty hinges screeched nonetheless, but to her relief, Kyle and the dog kept snoring.

The streets in this particular area of the city had no street lamps. But as the city center approached, her path grew less tenebrous, and Misty could distinguish her own feet from the darkness. 

The city centre at night was her favorite place in the city. No people trying to squash her like mashed potatoes. No deafening prayers in her ears. No need to be a savior. The place was a ferocious beast, and only at night, in its sleep, Misty got to enjoy the company of it. She ambled about, running her hand over the walls and railings, doing tightrope walking on the edge of the fountain. Then, she splashed some water from it on her face. 

As she wiped her head and hair on her sleeves, something above her caught her eye. A window, with the moonlit silhouette of a human on the sill. Their face was hidden from her view. Misty immediately knew it was Cordelia, could easily recognize the way she sat with the side of her head pressed against the glass. It was the inn she stayed at. 

It hadn’t been her intention to come to the inn. The opposite from it. She had come out for a walk to stop her mind from wandering. 

But then, Cordelia turned her head and saw her. Their eyes met. Time stilled. Misty felt the beating of her heart return, as if it had been dormant until then. 

Slowly, out of habit, she took steps forward to stand under the window. The distant felt familiar, Cordelia up on the windowsill, Misty on the ground. And the ephemeral moment they shared brought Misty back to the old days. She remembered the first time she’d seen Cordelia, the ghost of her, as a child.

But the next moment, the ghost withdrew from the window. Misty waited for some moments, her heart pounding in hope, but she didn’t come back. Dejected, she turned on her heel. 

The door of the inn creaked open behind her. 

There was Cordelia, with her winter coat thrown over her shoulders. She offered a soft smile, walking up to Misty. “I was just hoping you’d come.”

“I couldn't sleep.”

“Me, neither.”

Misty shifted her attention to their surroundings. It unnerved her to see Cordelia standing outside and talking so openly. Part of her still feared Fiona might come out of the darkness, seething, and tear them away from each other again. It was stupid, she knew, but old fears die hard. 

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Misty said. “You could get ill again.”

“Do you want to come inside with me, then?”

Misty hesitated. 

A gentle smile crept across Cordelia’s lips. “Don't worry. The fever was a one-time thing. I had to sleep outside on colder nights, looking for you, but I never caught a cold.”

The mental image made Misty wince. “I thought-- Why were you sleeping outside?”

“Well, sometimes we didn’t come across a town or a city for days. But we had a horse to keep us warm. His name is Kelpie.”

Misty offered a stiff smile. For some reasons, she had thought Cordelia had been traveling by automobile, like a proper lady, instead of camping out in the cold like Misty herself had. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that just for me,” she said.

“I would've done more for you. I would do anything for you.” Cordelia sat on the edge of the fountain and gestured for Misty to sit next to her. “Will you tell me how you've been? I didn't get the chance to ask earlier.”

Misty kept standing a little away from her, leaving the invitation hanging in air. She laughed. It was difficult to describe how she had _been_ , so she told her what she had been _doing_. “I teach poor people now. Things that you taught me when we were kids. They look up to me, treat me like a person. And I live with Kyle in that shack that you saw, and with Lapin, the dog you also saw.”

“Lapin?” Cordelia perked up as she got the joke. “Did Kyle name him?”

“No, a friend of his did. I haven’t been able to break the news to him yet.”

Cordelia nodded, lost in thought for a moment. “I’m so glad you were reunited with him.”

“Yeah.” Misty looked down and kicked the ground. “Well, it sounds crazy and unreal. But it was my ma that helped me find him.”

“I thought your mother was--”

“Dead. She is. But she showed up out of nowhere as a ghost, I think, and brought me to this city.” Glancing around, Misty returned her gaze to her. “She led me to you, too.”

Cordelia seemed dumbfounded, understandably so. 

“It sounds like a lie, but--”

“I never think you are a liar, Misty. Strange things do happen, don’t they?” Cordelia let out a laugh, her brown eyes looking straight at her. Then, she grew pensive. “I went to visit your mother--her grave in the village, I mean--when I left the manor, to beg her to give protection to you.” She smiled. “Maybe, she heard me.” 

Tears pricked Misty’s eyes. She tilted her head up to keep them at bay.

“Your brother is exactly how you’ve told me,” Cordelia said. “Kind at heart. When he walked me here earlier, he briefly mentioned Fiona… He told me that I had the right to forgive as much as the right to not forgive. I hadn’t expected that from him, but I think he knew I needed that. So, yes, I think I could get along with him.” 

Misty couldn’t find a word. Had it been always this hard to speak with her? It felt like talking to a stranger. Someone that evoked a sense of fear in her. 

Still, with patience, Cordelia gave a smile. “I was surprised how much you two look alike.”

“No, we don’t.”

“You do. You have the same eyes and nose,” she said, pointing at Misty’s face, “although I think your nose is prettier.”

Misty’s hand instinctively shot up to touch her nose. And the sound of Cordelia’s giggles reminded her of the countless times she had kissed her on the tip of her nose. 

When her giggles subsided, the air of seriousness returned to her. “Misty, is it true that people don’t harm you here? Are you truly safe?”

Misty gave a nod. “They treat me with respect as long as they think I’m a man. Well, more respect than I’d like, being a spiritual figure and whatnot.” She let a laugh escape. 

But it didn’t brighten the mood that seemed to have permeated. Or, it didn’t reach Cordelia’s ears, who seemed even deeper in thought.

In that moment, a thought came to Misty. “What happened to Hank? I asked him to look after you. Didn’t he try to stop you?” 

“Oh, he did. I ignored him, so he accompanied me instead, although I didn't really need him.”

“He accompanied you?” Misty grimaced.

“A true nuisance, that one. I felt as if the longer his beard grew, the chattier he became.” With a sneer, Cordelia shook her head. Then, a sigh fell from her lips. “But, maybe I was intentionally being fastidious. Maybe-- No, I know I was doing that on purpose, because I wanted him gone. I wanted to believe I was more than enough to save you on my own.”

There was so much information to process, and Misty felt that her head might explode with an ever growing number of questions. “Were you ever in danger?”

Cordelia smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes. It turned out that the world outside wasn’t as gentle or sparkly as I'd once believed. You constantly have to guess people’s intentions. I don't like it.”

“I'm sorry.”

Looking up with certainty in her eyes, Cordelia reached out and took her hand. “It doesn't matter anymore, though. I have you now. That's all I ever wanted.”

Her hands felt cold. Misty felt overwhelmed by the desire to hold them tight, to warm them, to warm her. Instead, she withdrew her hand. “And is he here now?” She pointed at the inn behind her.

“No. Somewhere out there looking for you. I sent him home when I had to halt the journey in order to see Fiona. I thought that was it, but he found where I was staying. I had Spalding searching for you, but Hank also volunteered to do it. He doesn't know I've found you yet, though."

The mention of Fiona gave Misty a knot in her stomach. She didn't really want to go back to that particular topic. “I hope he’s alright.”

“He should be. I hate to admit, but that man is unbelievably viable. He eats snakes.”

Misty snickered despite herself. “I just feel sorry," she said with a sigh. "If it hadn’t been for me, he still would’ve been in the town, working hard to be a master blacksmith like he always wanted to be. I ruined his life.”

"Don't," Cordelia said. "He told me that he didn't regret leaving the town. He now gets to meet other blacksmiths across the country, traveling from place to place."

"He does?" 

“Yes. And even if he did regret it, don’t dare think you've ruined anyone's life. We all made our choices because we love you.”

Cordelia stared straight into her eye, clearly itching for Misty's hand again. And Misty, this time, couldn't decide what to do. She wanted to feel Cordelia, but didn't want her to touch her. 

“Misty." Her voice sounded so hashed and gentle. "What are you scared of?”  

At that, her fear flared up in a flash. “I don't know.”

"Are you scared of me?" 

“Never.” It came out without her thinking. But as Misty chewed over the word, she decided that it was true. It wasn't a fear of Cordelia herself, though the feeling was still there.

And something must've changed in the air after the short silence. Cordelia smiled, took her hand without a hint of hesitation, and planted a light kiss on the back of it. She looked up, then. “Your shoelaces are loose.”

Ignoring the drumming of her heart, Misty also looked at her feet. “Oh-- Yeah, they do that often.”

“Sit down. I’ll tie them for you.” Cordelia pulled at her arm with gentle force, making her seated next to her.

Despite her lingering sense of ambivalence, Misty put one foot up on the edge of the fountain, facing her body towards her. The slender fingers of Cordelia came brushing against the skin of her ankle as she got the work done. And taking advantage of those brown eyes cast downward, Misty studied her face. Her eyelashes, her cheekbones, her lips. Everything about her features looked so different when lit by the street lamps. But still, beyond words, beautiful.

Cordelia let out a sigh of contentment. “I just remember the song you made up when I first taught you how to tie a knot. Do you remember?”

“Not really.”

“The other foot, please." Cordelia put her hand under Misty's other knee and, in a gentle manner, made her sit with both of her knees hugged to her chest. "Over, under, around, and through. Say hello to Miss Deer,” she said, moving her fingers to tie the other set of laces. “That’s how you used to do it.”

“Oh, yeah.” Misty felt a pang of nostalgia. “I do remember.”

Cordelia flashed a teasing smile. “You used to believe I was a stuffed deer.”

“Well, of course not. I was just playing along since you were so eager to keep your true identity a secret.”

Their synchronized giggles echoed off the walls in the sleeping city. 

And this time, it was Cordelia that broke the eye contact. She looked up at the stars, a wistful crease on her brow. “I've never even dared imagine I could be deserving of such happiness until you entered my life. But every day, you made me know I did deserve it, this happiness, your Love. With you, it never mattered that I was tied down. The only way was up. And it still is. With you, I could reach the moon.”

Misty couldn’t take her eyes off the beauty in front of her. “But we fall in the end, don't we?”

That surprised both of them. 

“No. Never,” Cordelia said.

“But… But, you couln’t keep going up forever. We could only go so far. All things have an end. Someday--” Then, the thought of Mr.Vinge and Charlotte flashed across her mind. She burst into tears. “Someday we’ll have ours and have to say goodbye again. And we--” At last, she understood where this unshakable dread came from. “I can’t. I can’t have that.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. I don't…" Misty got to her feet, walking back and forth to keep, at least, some of the gushing fear and sorrow under control. "But I’ve finally gotten used to this life. This life without you. Learned to handle this emptiness inside me and made it part of me." Through her tears, she looked at Cordelia. 

Her Cordelia. With her barely-visible plume of breath, as she slowly stood and closed the gap between them. Then, her ghostly hand rested on Misty's shoulder, sliding up to cup her cheek. Her warmth seeped into her skin. She was not a ghost. She was alive, and it was the most frightening thought that had ever crossed Misty's mind. 

“I can’t go through that again," Misty said. "I already lost so many people I care, and every time, it takes a piece of my heart away, my soul away. If you showed me what it’s like to have you in my life and I lost you all over again, it would kill me.”

“So, you’d rather drive me away, while it’s still not too late?” Cordelia's voice sounded calm. 

Yes, Misty wanted to say. But at the same time, she feared that the moment she said it, Cordelia would vanish into the night. "I'm not strong." She wiped her tears away. "For a very long time, I’ve tried to be, for you. Wanted to be your… savior." She couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. "But I’m not. I'm just a child who doesn't know how to live, who's scared all the time. And… You will be disappointed when you see how weak I actually am."

Silence fell between them. Misty wiped more tears away on her sleeve and sniffled, feeling the sting of the cold air in her nose and throat. From under her brows, she looked at Cordelia, who had been, it seemed, staring at her the whole time. 

"You are my Misty. My only love," she said quietly. "Before all of this, I had to believe in it--in us--because it was the only thing I had. Now that I've seen the world, it's changed. Now, I can say with absolute certainty that you're the most important thing in the world, in my life." She took steps forward. "Misty, look at me.” With her fingers under her chin, she tilted Misty's head up. “You’re scared. I’m scared, too. The fear I felt that day, waking up to see you gone, would follow me to the afterlife. I would never want to feel that again.”

Misty felt her lip quiver again. “Then--”

“So, I’ll never let you go.” Cordelia cupped her cheeks, searching Misty's eyes, begging. “Don’t let it take your happiness away, Misty, because this love, we deserve it. Do you hear? It’s ours, and fear has no say in it anymore.”

Misty didn't have any more willpower to pull away, wasn't sure if she wanted to pull away. “But-- It’s going to end. We all die eventually.”

“It is, and we do. But you know what?" Cordelia waited until their eyes met, and flashed the most dazzling smile Misty had ever seen. "Your love is worth the damned fear of losing it. And I'll make sure to spend every day for the rest of my life making you know that my love is worth it, too.”

And that was the end of it. All of Misty’s residual resolution and fear crumbled to pieces, leaving her standing on the rubble. All she could do was to nod, and to be mesmerized by this courageous woman before her. 

Cordelia smiled. She offered a hand. It was not a plea. Simply a gesture of conviction, waiting for Misty to take it, to seal this thing between them, for good. 

Misty did. It felt like coming home, and the rest of her tears rolled down her face. She let Cordelia brush her thumbs over her cheeks to wipe them away, and pressed her lips to her warm palm. And then, she felt Cordelia’s lips against hers.

It was with this sensation that her old self returned to her. Slowly, with each pressing of their lips. Someone she used to be. Someone she had missed as much as she’d missed Cordelia.


	24. Chapter 24

They snuck up the stairs of the inn, hand in hand. As the wooden floor creaked under their weight, Misty stared at the back of Cordelia in the relative darkness. And it crossed her mind that they had never done this. Walking the stairs together. Out of fear, she tightened her grip on her hand and refused to take her eyes off her silhouette.

There was a sound of thundering snoring coming from one of the rooms. But the throbbing of her own heart roared even louder in her ears. Cordelia led her through the corridor, passing by the snoring room, to her own. 

Inside the room was slightly brighter than the corridor with the light from the window. The shadow of Cordelia looked more defined. Still, like a ghost. Cordelia closed the door with a quiet click, crossed the room, and, standing by the tiny bed, turned around to extend her arm to Misty. 

“Come here.”

Misty did. Their hands found each other again. Her chest grew tight at the warmth. Resting her forehead against hers, Misty sniffled the earlier tears away. 

Cordelia stroked her cheek with the back of her hand. And with the same fingers that had tied her shoelaces, she slowly undressed Misty. The jacket slid off her shoulders, followed by the layers underneath it. Misty listened to the rustle of her clothes as they pooled around her feet. The cold air caressed her skin and made her shiver.

Cordelia’s gaze slithered down her bare body, from breasts to belly, then lower. Their eyes locked. Misty felt breathless, dizzy, and felt a lump in her throat. 

“I missed you,” Cordelia said and threaded her fingers into Misty’s short hair. “I love you, no matter how you look, no matter who you need to pretend to be out in the world.” 

Too overwhelmed to speak, Misty pulled at her winter coat. She helped Cordelia out of it as well as her nightgown. They both lay down on the bed. The sheets smelled like a moldy dog.

Cordelia hovered over her, her cascading-down hair cocooning both of them in their own little world, and kissed her like their lives depended on it. The earlier kisses had been of forgiveness. This one, Misty thought, was of greed, of selfish need for the other. 

And Cordelia touched her as Misty had touched her their first time. Their bodies moved in unison. The bed frame groaned. Misty begged and ached for her touch as if it had never frightened her.

“You are,” Misty said with tears in her eyes as she came down from her high. “Delia, you are.”

“What?”

Misty took her hand and kissed it. “You are worth the fear of losing you. Please don’t ever think otherwise.”

With a gentle smile, Cordelia pressed her lips against the skin under her ear. “I know,” she whispered in her ear. 

They remained in each other’s arms long after that, watching the rays of the rising sun slowly move across the walls of the room. The city was starting to wake after its slumber. Under their heads, some footsteps and laughter shook the ground downstairs. 

It felt strange to think they were there, surrounded by so many people, yet unseen. It was a strange sense of secrecy. Not the same as the one she’d felt back at the manor on the hill. Not the one that plagued her with mortal fear. This one was a secret to be cherished.

Cordelia looked at her, brushing the short curls out of her eye. “You look so much prettier in the daylight.”

“So do you. You look real.” Misty ghosted her thumb over her lips. The sunlight reflected off her skin as if it was exuding from her. “You are very real. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Cordelia touched her hand to Misty’s chest, knocking on it softly once. “We are stuck together.”

This simple gesture activated her heart, like the simple turn of a key in an automobile ignition.

But then, it seemed to have activated more than her heart. Before Misty could offer more words, her stomach beat her to it and growled. After a pause, they let out a groan in chorus, and that made them burst into laughter.  

Cordelia sat up. “Let’s go get some breakfast, Mr. Savior.” 

…

…

In the area between the slum and the uptown neighborhood, they bought several houses. They invited slum orphans and poor families to live there and, as it was Kyle’s idea, put him in charge of the kids. The biggest one of the houses, with three floors and a large door, was for Misty and Cordelia-- At least, the third floor was. They set the school downstairs, where anyone could come in to use notebooks and desks.

Cordelia decorated their house with flowers and portraits, filled it with colors and scents. Especially their bedchamber. She wanted to give it as little resemblance to her old house as possible. But every now and then, the old days would creep back. She would wake up from a nap or get out of her musing, and the walls around her would feel so familiar. Like heavy shackles, tying her down. 

When that happened, though, she would close her eyes. At any time of night or day, the quiet chatter and footsteps downstairs and outside the street would answer to her prayers. Then, she’d know. This was not her old house. She was no longer alone.

Cordelia closed her notebook. Putting on a coat, she grabbed another one and walked out of the study she shared with Misty. Downstairs, she found Moira in the kitchen. The old woman had a neighbor invited over for tea. 

Cordelia greeted both of them. “I’m going for a walk,” she said to Moira.

“Okay, darling. See you later.” Moira held her cheek up for a kiss, which Cordelia gave.

The hallways teemed with students going home after class. They greeted her as they spotted her. Older ones gave a quick bow, while younger ones waved their hands in a more vigorous manner.

“There are cookies in the salon,” Cordelia said to all of them. “Take some and go home safely. See you next time.”

She watched them scurry to the salon with unconcealed excitement, then walked into one of the classrooms herself. 

There was Misty in her ragged clothes. She was sat at the teacher’s desk, with one of their youngest students on her lap, surrounded by other young ones. The kids showed her one after another of their notebooks. They all fell into a fit of giggling as one of them said something, their squeals echoing into the halls. Cordelia leaned in the doorway and watched the scene. And when Misty’s odd eyes looked at her and smiled, her heart twinged and grew even fonder. 

The kids let Misty go at last. As they got past Cordelia, she told them about the cookies in the salon. The way they all made a run at once made both her laugh.

Misty came to stand by her in the doorway, chuckling at them. Their lips met in a quick peck, then.

“How was the class?” Cordelia said.

“Good as usual. Your class?”

“Some petty fights, as usual.” A breathy laugh fell from her lips. “In the morning class, Mrs. Poulin accused Mrs. Barnier of stealing her kettle, while Mrs. Barnier claimed it was hers to begin with. The afternoon class was rather peaceful except for some new gossip.”

Misty offered a smile, though not without a furrow on her brow. “Are you sure you don’t want to switch classes? Kids are much easier to handle, I think.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I want to do this. I need to learn how to be--"

“You will have more experience with other adults than you could ever want. Rushing isn't worth the stress."

“I got this,” Cordelia said. “Besides, what am I going to do when those young women harbor a sexy desire for Mr. Goode? You being married may not stop some of them. I’ll happily keep them at bay."

“You’re the only one that fancies me.”

“No, I know there are a few that have equally horrible taste.”

A huge grin tugged at Misty’s mouth. She kissed her on the forehead. “Promise you will tell me if you need to switch, okay?"

With a nod, Cordelia brought their faces closer for a proper kiss. They giggled in each other’s mouth, and they only pulled away when they heard approaching footsteps. Kyle glided by them, eyes turned to the floor, pretending not to have seen anything. His embarrassment made both of them giggle even harder. 

"Shall we go?" Cordelia gave her the other coat that had been draped over her forearm.

Slipping into it, Misty offered an arm. “Where to?”

Cordelia locked their arms as they began walking. “To the flower field. We talked yesterday, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. We did.”

With a confident stride, Misty led them into the salon. There, she took a handkerchief out of her pocket and wrapped some of the cookies in it. She shoved one in her mouth in the process. Its crumbs stuck to her lips and snowed on her clothes. Cordelia brushed them off for her.

Arm in arm again, they left the house, marching through the streets. The air felt soft and pleasant on her skin. Cordelia undid the topmost button on her coat to let some of the breeze in. 

Passers-by offered them cordial greetings. Smiles and tipping of their hats. But none of them ever dared to come closer. When Cordelia was with her, even the boldest and most pious people would leave their Mr. Goode alone. Cordelia didn’t know why, but this was how things had been everyday since she'd come here. It might be their way of paying respect to their alone time, or it could be that they preferred to steer clear of Cordelia, the enigmatic woman who had shown up by automobile a month ago and had immediately taken Mr. Em as a husband. 

Whatever the reason, she liked it. And however loud and close they whispered behind her back, she always held her head up high.

“How's the book coming along?” Misty said.

“Good. I now have an overall outline of chapters.” Cordelia looked up and found the pair of eyes sparkle with anticipation. She couldn't help but smile. “So, the witch and the dragon meet a dog on their way to Paradise of the West. And--”

“What kind of dog?”

“I don't know yet. It is a magical one.”

“Is it big? Is it fluffy?” 

Chuckling, Cordelia thought about it. With Misty, her imagination always seemed to perform at its best. “It can change its size and form. So, yes and no.”

“It should have horns! Like these gigantic, sharp horns!”

“If that's what you want, sure.”

It only took several minutes of walking to arrive on the hill. They had the city on one side and a flower field on the other at the foot of it. The flowers, in full bloom, swayed in the spring breeze. 

They sat on the ground, and Misty unwrapped the handkerchief with cookies in it, offering them to Cordelia. 

“See how the mountains are green now?” Misty pointed at the mountains on the other side of the flower field. “Kyle said it’s going to turn all orange and yellow in autumn.”

“We should go there when that happens,” Cordelia said. “I read that people in some cultures go on a picnic to appreciate the foliage just like they do with spring flowers.”

“Can we bake a pie? A meat pie? Maybe we should take Lapin, too.”

Cordelia gave a gentle nod. 

A gust of wind blew, and it sent a shower of flower petals around them. Misty swang her arms around, trying to catch them in the air. But her minute-long attempt ended in vain. Her groans of mild frustration put a smile on Cordelia’s face in return. 

Cordelia looked around them and picked up a whole set of petals from the cookies. “Look, this one is intact.”

“Oh, so pretty!” Misty took it between her gentle fingers. With a blooming grin, she then tucked it behind Cordelia’s ear, admired it, and kissed her on the cheek. “The prettiest human ever.” She gave her another kiss and proceeded to spring to her feet, gathering more petals to adorn Cordelia’s head.

Cordelia made her best efforts to keep still. But some petals fell nonetheless, blown off and onto her lap. "Do you want to walk through the field? You can teach me how to make a flower crown."

Misty stopped her hands and looked over the flower field, but with a pursed lips. "I want to, but I don't want to walk over them."

“Oh, okay.”

“Did you want a flower crown?"

Cordelia looked up at her. Her husband. Her wife. Her life. And a sense of utter happiness filled every corner of her heart. “I'm happy being out here with you." 

Here was the center of the world. On top of the hill. With Misty by her side. And the world was beautiful, so beautiful, seen without the barrier of her window frame.

_[FIN]_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge, huge shout out to May! Thank you for giving feedback on each chapter and being the best reader a writer could ever hope for. You have no idea how much your support has meant to me. Mil gracias :) You're awesome. Never change 💚


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